#when a man kills it's probably because a woman kissed him either not enough or too many times when he was a child

[johannestevans]

favourite thing about abusive husbands and serial killers etc on tv is that like. somehow it's always somehow the guy's mother's fault.

like this guy could have hung drawn and quartered his entire family and the plot will be like "and this is all bc of his mom"

"this guy is a controlling and abusive rapist, all because his mom was just TOO nice to him"

"this guy kills people and systematically abuses every woman he's intimate with, bc his mother abused him"

"this guy's mother ABANDONED HIM, CRUELLY, as an INFANT, which made him kill"

like sure maybe that guy's mother sucked but like. did his father. his grandparents. his great aunt. or like, hear me out here… maybe HE sucks? maybe HE chose to do some murders, and it's not one of his parents' fault for what he did as an adult?

[bvidzsoo]

Cosmically divine

☆ Synopsis: Olympus, the place where Gods play pretend and do as they wish. Dion, the place where mere mortals suffer and do as the Gods wish. One might wonder, is life ever fair? ★ 

☆ Author: bvidzsoo ★ 

☆ Pairing: Ateez members x female reader ★ 

☆ Rating: nsfw, 18+ ★ 

☆ Genre: Greek mythology, dark romance, violence, smut, gore

☆ Status: on-going ★ 

☆ 1. Choi San x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Underwater ◖Ares x Naiad Nymph!au◗ 

Summary: You knew that your love would never be fulfilled as the man you loved belonged to another woman. But can you help your poor Naiad heart when San, the God of war himself, seeks you out again and again when he is most vulnerable?

☆ 2. Kang Yeosang x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Marionette ◖Aphrodite!au◗ 

Summary: Doomed from the beginning, your mother, Hera, only saw a weapon in you. If you had once thought she loved you, she proved you wrong the second she cast you away once you failed to kill her enemy's son. Yeosang, Aphrodite's dearest and most prized offspring.

☆ 3. Kim Hongjoong x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Color of love ◖Hermes x Iris!au◗ 

Summary: If there was a God everyone feared, perhaps it was Zeus. After the continuous abuse he's put you through, you never thought you'd get to live your eternal life peacefully. That is, until the messenger God shows up and whisks you away before Zeus can see and stop him.

☆ 4. Jung Wooyoung x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Kingdom come ◖Oread Nymph x Dryad Nymph!au◗ 

Summary: Nymphs were nothing but deities that preserved nature and allowed the Gods to love them in return for their blessings. And when Zeus lurks around, you are labelled as his, never to be touched by anyone in the whole cosmos. But can you help yourself when the man he claims is Wooyoung himself? The gorgeous and warm-hearted Oread that coincidentally returns your forbidden feelings for him?

☆ 5. Song Mingi x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Dead man running ◖Hades!au◗ 

Summary: You were cursed, at least that's what your family thought about you. After a while, you started believing it too, the shadows that whispered to you convincing you that you were either crazy or just...different. And maybe you were, after all, the God of death himself, wouldn't have just called you his little shadow without a reason, right?

☆ 6. Choi Jongho x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Nightmare ◖Phobos!au◗ 

Summary: Coming from a family that thrived under pressure and mayhem, it was only a matter of time until your father allowed you to join him on the battlefield. But perhaps what set you apart from other warrior families was the fact that each one of you worshiped a God of war. You just happened to make the mistake of offering yourself up to one in exchange for your dear sibling's life.

☆ 7. Jeong Yunho x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　One Kiss ◖Atë!au◗ 

Summary: Cast out of Olympus because Zeus has had enough of the mayhem and craze you created amongst men, living and meddling with mortals changed nothing. You thrived off of stupid men falling to their knees and begging you for attention, promising things no mortal could offer. But when a pure, untouched, and unassuming boy might just fall into your trap, you can't help yourself and entice him just to the point of madness.

☆ 8. Park Seonghwa x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Moonlight Melody ◖Poseidon!au◗ 

Summary: You always thought the man of your dreams never existed, would never come and whisk you away from this terrible terrible life that you lived. And perhaps when he starts showing up in your dreams, with promises that he'd soon come and see you, you find yourself hoping for a love that only the stars would bear witness to.

☆ A/N: Hello, my lovelies, I am here with a new story, can you believe it?! Because I can't lol, this wasn't supposed to exist but I thought...why not? Updates won't be too frequent, probably, as I have got quite a few others things to write, but I can't wait for you all to see what I have planned here! ^^ These stories won't be too dark, but I felt it necessary to mention dark romance as we're still dealing with some ambiguous topics. Taglist, as usual, is open and you are all very welcomed to comment on this post if you'd like to be added! Thank you for showing love, support, and interest in my works on here, they mean the world to me! <3 divider ★ 

↳Perm. taglist: @orshii @jjoongstar @tinyelfperson @thestarskiller @zuuhaa

@aaa-sia @gong-fourz @a-tinycarat @sooberryworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

@anastasiamin860 @yunhogrippers @vcutparis @tunaasan @blvckarabixnvoid

@yusalterego @arigakittyo @slowee00 @jaerisdiction @hey-syia

@vnessalau @oddracha @chatsgotmytongue @potatos-on-clouds @yunhowooyo

@watermelon2319 @yoongzsmile28

❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

thinking about the fe games w/ routes (fates and three houses specifically but probably others idfk)

i think there needs to be more tragedy there. or opportunities for it i guess? or that fire emblem has to make unique death quotes for characters in general man

death in fire emblem feels so blah for me. more of an inconvenience than in other media. like when im playing DnD and an npc i love dies it isnt "man that sucks. anyway" but even w characters i love in fire emblem its just "man do i wanna reset the chapter for this that was so lame"

make death and especially betrayal related deaths Hurt More.

lets say youre byleth. youre teaching the black eagles, yay! but you have a b support with claude. you and claude are good buddies, maybe you just like claude as a character or its accidental because of x y z does Not matter. either way you are one of claudes closest friends. then the war starts, and you choose to side with a woman claude sees as a future tyrant (or at the very least a driven warmonger who might crush the alliance underneath her boot). imagine the hurt. the absolute fucking agony for claude.

and for byleth! byleth wakes up and their friend is gone. on another side, unreachable, 5 years of emotional distance *yawning* in front of them.

and then they reunite in the midst of battle, weapons drawn. theyve both come so far and have goals they *have* to achieve.

"I don't want this."

too bad. if you roll over, you get a game over because you fuckin failed the route. or you have to make someone else kill claude because sumn sumn mechanically you have a 0% hit rate bc of that b support. you cant do it.

too bad. claude cant run away, hes the last line of defense for a place hes responsible for. if he leaves what is he? a coward? a turncoat? would he have to believe in edelgard's future? would he have to slay his own allies, friends, the people who relied on him?

he cant. you cant.

he begs you to reconsider. you cant.

as he falls he reaches out a hand. you kneel beside him as he says a few things. calls this whole battle a clever gambit, praises your cunning in using effective weaponry, etc etc. but his voice is weaker. theres no option to spare him, you couldnt spare any *other* unit, could you? couldn't spare hilda. cant spare claude.

he mentions sometimes dreaming of the monastery. the food was good, right? hope the foods good in the future you build with edelgard. hope you name a town after him, thatd be fun. dont get stupid, teach, dont join him too soon. maybe he'll even wait for ya. keep a seat warm.

(fire emblem unit death sound)

then also: units in your own army.

lets say youre playing black eagles. its nearish endgame but not too close so i dont say any spoilers, but regardless bernadetta and yuri have an A support. they might get hitched postgame man, you havent done the A support of anyone else w those two. its a rough battle, your healer is severely low on psychic uses, you sold all your fucking vulneraries because you thought dorothea was more of a beast than she is. its dire.

unexpected sniper crit. yuri is on 0 hp.

bernadetta is within 5 tiles and instead of yuri's canned death quote, bernie interjects with one of the most well voiced anguished screams youve ever fucking heard. on the next turn, bernie gets +50 hit *and* crit on that enemy, and if she kills it the rest of the scene plays.

bernie is holding yuri, one of her few friends in her hellish fucking life. hes not gonna make it, she knows that, but shes still gonna try. shes wailing and begging him to stay like she wished she had all those fucking years ago, shes babbling about all the things he'll miss if he goes, all the things shes planned for them to do now that shes brave enough to leave her bedroom. he cuts her off to laugh. now is when she gets brave and honest with her feelings? when hes dying? oh bernie come on. he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in for a hug, kissing her temple like an old boyfriend and not a quiet yearning crush. he murmurs that hes glad she left her bedroom. that hes glad she can see the world beyond what abuse happened to her behind closed doors. that she'll find some other person to hold in his stead, one who wont so rudely get his blood on her battle leathers. one who wont leave her time and time again like he has. she wails into his shoulder as she drops the scraps of cloth she had been trying to use to stop his bleeding and just holds her dying friend.

(fire emblem unit death sound)

if death felt like An Event and not An Inconvenience i'd play with permadeath more man. make me sad fire emblem youre so shit at it

.

[amypihcs]

So i'm dead.

@contact-guy's beautiful comic (i loved it, truly, it killed me.) and watching Hellsing with an offline friend of mine killed me THROUGHLY.

And since i fear i'm figuring out how Holmes and Watson's relationship will evolve into @contact-guy's comic serie i'll curse you with the HCs i made with my dear @i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end today talking about my future drawing of Watson with his loves, Holmes and Mary.

You can probably tell i'm emotionally devastated because my writing is more inconsistent than my usual.

So.

For me is very important that Mary gets treated well, since she exists in canon and is a fantastic woman. And i also love to think that she and Holmes are friends, after all they both love Watson.

My take is, Watson and Mary have kind of a façade marriage based on good friendship and comradeship but without love and generally without sex.

This could work in two ways, both of which are incredibly nice one:

Aroace Mary who needs some sort of social respectability coming from a marriage and got lucky enough to find a man as good and kind as Watson who is more than willing to help her to achieve it without endangering her

Lesbian or Bi Mary in a relationship with a girl, probably her ex employer, could be someone else, who still needs the respectability and stability coming from a marriage and is still lucky enough to find our favourite bisaster, Dr John H. Watson, who is also bisexual and in a relationship with a man and would benefit a lot from the cover of a respectable marriage.

The first one is rather easy to treat. Watson and Mary make good friends during Sign of Four, Holmes notices/guesses that Mary is acespec like him (my Headcanon for Holmes is that he is demigay) and when Watson proposes and she accepts they put immediately straight that it won't be a consummated marriage, ever.

The second one develops in the same way, and this makes so much more explainable the many times Mary is mentioned to be away visiting relatives in canon. Mary is with her partner, Watson is with his partner.

Now angst warning!

Sherlock Holmes looks very favorably upon Watson's marriage, he is in fact the one that pushes Watson into it, and for very good reasons.

Let's put sign of four in 1887, alright? Chances are high he was already pursuing Moriarty, or that he generally was realizing more and more the risk of dying on the job, well, Holmes is a smart man. And a clever, practical and caring one as well. he is a man who loves deeply and cares deeply and wants to always have his affairs in order.

Is it too much of a stretch to imagine that he realizes the higher and higher risk of SOMETHING BAD happening? I don't think so. And he knows that Watson could get caught in the crossfire and he wants of course to protect Watson and offer him some saving net.

He pushes Watson into this marriage that will not mean the end of their relationship but the creation of another meaningful relationship for his love, so that SHOULD I DIE he will have someone to help him weather the storm (would watson care, would he? nobody ever did, but WATSON. Watson cares for everyone... would watson care...). The marriage also means that he will go back into practice, and this is an economic safe net, something always good. Their relationship is of course carefully concealed but such a handsome, sociable, perfect man as Watson is staying unmarried and living with a bachelor friend might give rouse to suspects, marriage will give his incredible partner respectability, something Moriarty or anybody won't dare to attack without sure cards in his hands, and Holmes will make sure NOBODY has any such cards.

Holmes is no coward, but he's not stupid either. He knows his job is dangerous and it might lead to really bad things happening, so he is happy when Watson tells him Mary said yes. He is happy on the morning of the wedding, he is the man who ties Watson's tie and then kisses his lips. He tells his husband to go marry, enjoy his honeymoon and start his life with his wife. And then come back to him, to their rooms and their love. And they both will have tears in their eyes. Holmes will not be at the cerimony, nor will Mary's wife. But they will always support their partners.

Holmes OF COURSE will sulk for a bit, until Scandal in Bohemia. He did what was right, but he still feels lonely. And then Watson comes back. And they're together once more, they're in love and they can break the world apart. And then comes 1890. Watson is a bit more settled down, Holmes has his affairs in order, he can set to the work of his life. And then comes 1891.

Holmes is afraid.

They set fire to their rooms. Home is not safe anymore.

Reichenbach comes.

Holmes is not suicidal, he is terrified. And yet he will once more put Watson's happiness in front of his own. He will not put his husband in front of an impossible choice. He drafts a letter in his head. He leaves it under a silver cigarette case.

He can't imagine he will only see his husband three years later.

His plans worked and failed. But they're back together. Holmes will finally talk. There's a broken window in 221b Baker Street, they're both older, more tired. A bit sad at how things turned out. Mary is dead. Holmes couldn't have forseen that. And yet after some days, after a dinner. Watson will pat the empty spot on his left on the couch, he's still sitting in the center. He will hug Holmes close to his chest, they will remember the times all three of them hugged, Watson and his loves, Mary on the right, Holmes on the left. Holmes on the heart's side, Mary on the reason's side. They will cry. And remember. And be glad for what have been and look forward to what will be.

They're older, more sure of themselves. Watson's status as a widower is respectable enough, he murmurs in the dark. He will only be married to one man for the rest of his life. The following morning, Holmes presents Watson with a French gold coin, for his Watch chain. That will be their ring, their memento.

Years will pass, they will retire, they will always be together, because they never lived, so they can never die. Outside the rain pours and the cabs rattle in the streets.

And it is.

Always.

1895.

Okay, sorry for the immense rant, i have tears streaming down my face, my j'accuse is up in the first lines and it's also my thank you for getting the balls to write this rant on holmes, watson and mary.

[fairsexynasty]

—DIFFICULT THINGS

jamie tartt x lasso!reader

ONE. TOWNIE

summary: lucy moves to richmond with a memory that doesn’t quite forget what her dad did to her. however, ted is as happy as a goldfish.

warnings: cursing, unlikeable female protagonist, father issues, abandonment issues, resentment

a/n: welcome to this very new series i WILL finish. my love for this show has overtaken my time and i am very excited to be writing this. this chapter is set during “two aces.”

——————

Leonard Cohen once said, “There’s a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.” But my world has been infused with the darkest of shadows. Everywhere I search is covered by a dark spot. It seeps into my life from my dreams, nightmares, and memories. I don’t think I was delivered by the hand of God, nor will I be expecting any blessing in the near future. It’s the hope that kills you.

I had that epiphany when I turned seven. No one had ever seen a child so jaded, so self-aware. When I learned that the father I wished for wasn’t that interested in fully being in my life, I accepted it entirely, for what it was worth. He’s popped in and out, coming in as quickly as he leaves, only sticking around for moments he deemed essential to me.

And the worse part is that he’s a good man—a good man with a daughter who felt evil.

I used to wish something terrible would happen to me. A broken collarbone. A car accident. Cancer. If something like that happened to me, I thought he’d return and stay for good.

But those things never happened. I’ve never broken any bones. I’ve never crashed my car into a tree. I’m perfectly healthy. And after all this time, Dad has moved on.

I have a half-brother. Thirteen or fourteen years my junior, it’s disgusting how I’m not too sure about the gap. I’ve never met him, nor do I want to meet him. I envy a child who cannot understand the weight of the word ‘father’ because he’ll always take it for granted.

When I crawl through my memories, I can see Dad crystal clear. He showed up to every one of my birthdays until age sixteen. That’s probably because my brother was old enough to ask and understand why Dad was leaving him. Dad came to my first dance, a father-daughter dance. It was one of the nights I honestly felt pretty. He and I danced the night away, stuffing our faces with candy and desserts and drinking our weight’s worth of soda pop. Dad taught me how to ride a bike. Although it ended with scraping my knees, he helped me up, cleaned my knees, and kissed each one. Dad drove me to my first day of high school. The morning went by quickly, but I can still remember the smile on his face as I waved goodbye to him and walked through the school doors.

I want to be thankful for what I’ve gotten from my dad. But he could have done so much more. Am I not worth the effort?

And it hurts to hate my mother as much as I do.

She could clean up her act for Dad, but once he was on his way home, she’d finally ease into consciousness. We would fight. She’d accuse me of not appreciating her. She’d belittle me and never congratulated me on my accomplishments. She’s manipulative. Controlling. Narcissistic. Evil. I know I’m no good, either. But women like that love confrontation. And she got the best of me every single time.

But I’m a grown woman now. I’m twenty. I have a life. A freedom I’ve never known. I’m trying to be honest, to prove I am everything Mom never thought I’d be. I’m trying to make Dad proud of me. Because everyone else is sure as hell proud of him, he’s Ted Lasso: a simple man with a simple plan who was pulled to spread his kindness in Richmond, England, by coaching their god-awful team. I watched the news with a frown as soon as they announced his new endeavor. If he got a new beginning, why can’t I?

And that’s why I decided to pack up my things and move to England.

I’ve been here before. My mother and I moved around due to her line of work. Whether it was Shanghai, Princeton, Kuala Lumpur, or Rome, I could never call those places home. I feel like Richmond is going to be different. I’m not hopeful. Just curious.

——

The park seems comforting. There appears to be a rhythm that compliments the people. Kids playing soccer, and shops opening for the day.

I sit and watch the world awaken. People pass me by as I sit on the bench, not one of them stopping their routine for me, except one.

lHis greetings were met with responses of “Wanker,” a word I found oddly endearing. He continued down the park trail, saying ‘good morning’ to me mindlessly.

I replied with a deadpan “Wanker,” which surprised him, given my American accent. He turned back, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“Oh, my lordy-lord,” he muttered, smiling as he said my name, “Lucy.” He looks at me as if I’m a fucking unicorn. His eyes soften, and the smile that always reaches his eyes is suddenly on his face. “ Lucy !” he breathes out as if he’s too scared to say it louder like I’ll run away and leave.

“Hi, Dad.” He pulls me from my seat on the bench and envelops me into the biggest bear hug I’ve ever gotten from him. And those hugs are grizzly and unrelenting.

He lifts me off my feet and holds my head to his shoulder. “Oh, how I love you, Lucy girl. I can’t believe it!”

I groan, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Dad, please put me down. I'm not as tiny as Henry is," I say with a laugh. He puts me down with a smile, but there’s a flash of a solemn look on his face. I guess my mention of Henry has filled him with some semblance of guilt. I can’t tell if that satisfies me or not. "I think you're wondering why I'm here," I say, the false smile still on my face. "And the only reason is because I wanted to see you, Dad. I missed you," I add, trying to perfect the role of the doting daughter, even though it doesn't come naturally.

“Oh, I missed you too, Pumpkin. I’m glad you’re here.” He spots my luggage standing against the bench. “Looks like you’re gonna be visiting for a while, huh?”

I nod slowly, my gaze briefly shifting away. "Yeah, I am. Needed a change of scenery for a while," I admit, hoping he won't probe further into my true reasons for being here.

Dad nods, but I spot him scanning my face for any information I won’t outwardly tell him. Perhaps it’s a parently instinct, or maybe it’s just a Ted Lasso thing. The smile on my face doesn’t falter.

“So, how’s your mom?”

The question hangs in the air, and I can sense the curiosity in his eyes. I clench my jaw and roll my eyes in annoyance. "I really don't want to talk about her right now," I say firmly, hoping to steer the conversation away from a topic I'd rather avoid.

Dad gives me one of those fatherly smiles, understanding my need for privacy but also indicating he'll inquire about it later. "Alright then. How about we get you settled into my place? Don't care if you've found one already. I got you here with me, and you're not going anywhere, missy. I hope that's alright with you," he adds, his face hopeful as he waits for my response.

I acquiesce to his requests. It’s the least I can do. “Sure, Dad. I’d love to.”

He cheers with a fist pump, then wrangles me into yet another bear hug before I tell him he’s crushing my ribs, and he dramatically lets me go with a pout on his face.

I follow him down the streets to his apartment door. We enter, and it’s pretty lovely, yet it feels so hollow. There’s an opened jar of peanut butter on the island. I can tell he radiates joy as we unpack my things into an extra bedroom. I wonder how lonely he’s been without his son and wife.

Yeah. This is the least I can do.

——

After unpacking and settling in, Dad practically begs me to come to Nelson Road with him, and since I’m already feeling a bit guilty, I come along with him.

Upon entering, some guy with a full beard and eyebrows that make him look perpetually constipated looks at me. Well, it’s more of a glare. He walks up to Dad and me, not once taking his eyes off me. I narrow my eyes in response, shooting him a cold glare of my own. “Who the fuck is this? Don’t tell me Rebecca hired another fucking American.” His voice is deep and rumbling and full of snark.

"Seriously, do all British guys walk around with a stick up their ass?" I quip, but my remark falls on deaf ears. I catch the man clenching his jaw at my question. Ah, it seems he doesn't take kindly to being disrespected. One jab at his masculinity, and he's ready to go to war without a second thought.

"Roy Kent, meet my daughter, Lucille," Dad introduces, but I quickly interject, "Lucy to you." I emphasize my preference, not one to stand on formality. "Who the fuck are you, Roy Kent?" I ask, gauging his reaction as he looks between me and my dad, clearly trying to figure something out. I decide to clear the air, "Yeah, my mom isn't Michelle," I clarify, hoping to put any confusion to rest.

Roy's response is a simple "Oh," followed by a grunt as he exits the scene. My dad remains unfazed and carries on, guiding me towards the locker room with his arm casually draped around my shoulder.

"Coach Beard! We've got a new cast member!" Dad announces to the room as we walk out together, seemingly excited to introduce me to his colleagues.

A man with a book and a golf hat turns his chair around and observes us. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the fussbudget,” he says. “Hello, Lucy. I’m Coach Beard. I’ve heard all about you.”

I can't help but snort at the situation. "That's impossible," I retort with a snarky tone. Coach Beard finds my reaction amusing, letting out a chuckle, while my dad gives a slight frown, but I know a few jabs won't easily rattle him.

Suddenly, a strong voice breaks the chatter, announcing, "Ayo, the gaffer's got another kid!" The rest of the men turn their attention to me, their eyes filled with wonder and intrigue. They excitedly chat, asking if they saw what they think they did.

Exiting the office, we step into the open room where my dad proudly introduces me to the team. "Fellas, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter. This is Lucy, everyone."

The players greet me with waves and hellos, except for one guy sitting on the bench, engrossed in his phone, occasionally laughing. I point him out, asking, "Who's that?"

"Jamie Tartt. Hey, Beard, what's the deal with Jamie?" my dad inquires, and seemingly out of nowhere, Jamie appears beside us without making a sound.

Beard responds, "Says he can't practice today. Says he's hurt."

I observe my dad's face dropping with disappointment as he turns to walk out the door and over to Jamie, concern etched across his features.

The whole situation was intense, and I couldn't recall ever seeing my father this angry before. It seemed like there had never been an opportunity for him to get this worked up until now. Watching him unleash his frustration on Jamie reminded me of my mom, who had her share of heated moments. While my dad appeared to be justified in his outburst, Jamie's disrespectful behavior only reinforced my 'British men suck shit' theory.

Feeling overwhelmed, a tingling sensation crept into my head, and my heart raced with the familiar signs of an impending panic attack. I needed to escape, so I swiftly turned on my heel and walked out of the office, trying to distract myself by fiddling with the rings on my fingers.

Wandering aimlessly down the halls, I searched for a private space to catch my breath and calm down. Passing a laughing man, a short guy carrying a laundry bag, and a stunning blonde woman who seemed out of place here, I stopped in my tracks when I heard my dad's name mentioned in a hushed conversation.

"Rebecca, I don't think Coach Lasso will be too thrilled about you trading Jamie away.”

“Higgins, listen to me. I don't care if Lasso is trying to get through to Jamie or if he begs him to come back. Jamie is not returning, and that's precisely what I need," she asserts before abruptly changing the subject, "Now, let me go hunt down my biscuits. They're late."

Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Dad is being sabotaged. All this time, I believed he was here to make a positive impact on the team, but it turns out they see him as nothing more than a joke. Stepping away from the door, I attempt to make a quick exit, only to collide with a statuesque woman who towers over me.

She glances down at me, exuding power through her stature and fashion, but I'm not intimidated. "Why, hello there, whoever you are. Are you lost?" she inquires.

Ah, this must be Rebecca. The woman who plans to screw my father over. I can't help but roll my eyes at her. "No. Just looking for the bathroom," I retort.

Rebecca gestures towards the sign, displaying her passive-aggressiveness. "Well, it's just around the corner. Right where the 'bathroom' sign is," she points out.

"Cool," I respond nonchalantly, not letting her faze me. "Oh, and by the way, my name's Lucy. Thanks for hiring my dad to coach!"

I catch a flicker of terror in Rebecca's eyes before I walk away, grinning to myself. Drama seems to follow me wherever I go, even in Richmond. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

——

After my quick trip to the loo, I wander over to the dog track, where Dad and Beard stand, closely observing the team's training session. I can't help but chuckle at Jamie's predicament as he wears a penny and sets up cones.

Dad notices my arrival and playfully calls out, "Oh, there you are, Waldo! What were you doing?"

His attempts at humor fail to catch me off guard. While I understand his references, I refuse to engage in the corniness. "Nothing, just using the bathroom," I reply with a mischievous grin, not willing to spill the beans about Rebecca's scheming ways. "Oh, and I met Rebecca. She seems nice," I lie sarcastically, well aware of her conniving nature.

Before Dad can respond, a rather handsome player approaches us gracefully. "Hello there. Sorry, Coach Lasso, but I couldn't continue practice without introducing myself to our guest," he says with a charming smile. "My name is Sam Obisanya. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lucy. The other players and I were wondering if you'd care to join us on the field for a few minutes. We'd like to have some fun at Jamie's expense. Is that alright?"

I return Sam's smile and reply, "Uh, sure. But I haven't played in years, dude. Not sure I'll be any good among you professionals.”

Sam brushes off my concerns, reassuring me, "Oh, that's alright, Lucy. I'm sure Thierry will let you score a couple of goals. Come on!" With that, he guides me towards the field, announcing to the team, "She said yes, you guys!" Their enthusiastic cheers fill the air.

As we assemble for a quick game, a guy with a buzzed fade named Isaac addresses me, confirming my name, "Alright, Lucy, is it?" I nod, and he explains the teams, "We're gonna split into five and five, and you're gonna play with the lads who ain't got a kit on."

"Sounds good," I respond with enthusiasm. I turn to the guys without kits, and each extends a hand for a handshake. I go down the line, shaking hands with each one. There's a short man with curly hair, Bumbercatch, followed by a tall fellow with a broad smile, Jan Maas. Then, a highly energetic man named Dani Rojas greets me, not wasting any time to exclaim, "Football is life!" right in front of me. The last guy, a mousey brunette named Colin, completes the line-up.

Quickly getting into formation with my newfound teammates, they place me front and center for the play. I'm facing off with Sam, who gives me a friendly smile. At the sound of the whistle, we both dash for the ball, but I swiftly take control and dribble it down the field. Roy Kent charges towards me, determined to tackle the ball away, but I outmaneuver him with a quick juke, causing him to land on his ass. The guys react with astonishment, and suddenly, the game shifts from Sam's gentle start to full intensity.

Isaac rushes towards me, sporting a determined expression, but I pass the ball to Dani Rojas, who's open and ready. Dani drives it down the field, but as soon as he spots an opportunity, he passes it back to me. With precision, I shoot the ball into the goal, leaving the goalkeeper stunned as it whizzes past him.

The entire team stands in complete silence, including my dad and Coach Beard, who are both staring at me with their mouths agape. The momentary hush is broken by Jamie Tartt, who teasingly remarks, "Ay, wanker's kid just got you real good, lads." He winks at me, provoking a gag from me followed by a flip-off.

Isaac can't contain his excitement, exclaiming, "Shit, bruv! You just broke Roy Kent's ankles!"

Roy growls behind me, clearly not pleased with being outplayed. "You got fucking lucky, kid," he grumbles.

I don't back down, confidently replying, "Luck's got nothing to do with it. Either you're cursed or you just ate shit, Kent."

I have to admit, Richmond has exceeded my expectations thus far, but I won't let it get the best of me just yet.

[brie-annwyl]

It’s all a lie

Pre outbreak! Joel Miller x reader

Summery: Joel Miller is in love with his asshole brother’s girlfriend, what could go wrong?

Warnings: illusions to sexy times, Tommy is a slut and a bad boyfriend, Joel is like borderline obsessed with reader but god is it attractive. Also mentions of Joel dreaming of giving oral. Your welcome

Joel is well aware he’s fucked.

The moment he saw you smile at him from across the bar, he knew. He doesn’t need to be reminded that he’s a horrible brother, he already knows that. Falling for your brother’s girl is probably an unmentioned sin in the bible. And if it’s not, it should be, because the way Joel thinks of you. He can’t stop himself no matter how hard he tries. He hates himself for it.

He’s holding you for the hundredth time as you cry, Tommy’s screwed up again which shouldn’t be as shocking to you as it is. Considering your entire relationship has been Tommy breaking you over and over again and Joel picking up the pieces, telling you to leave, only for you to be holding Tommy’s hand the next time he sees you. It’s always the same.

But not this time.

You weren’t just crying, you’re screaming. This time is different because you’re pissed, full of loathing and throwing it at full force towards whoever will hear, that just so happens to be Joel.

“I cannot believe I gave him 3 years- I wasted 3 years of my life on him!”

Joel can’t believe it either, not when he’s been here, holding you since the second week. But he doesn’t say that, he holds you against his chest and softly murmurs an “I know.”

“Th-this absolute bastard! I knew he was always going to be rough around the edges but to flirt- no, not just fucking flirt, to make out with another woman at the bar on-“ a sob over takes you and Joel has never felt the urge to kill a man more than he does now. It’s your birthday, and instead of having an amazing night with your boyfriend of 3 years. You’re sobbing into Joel’s chest because Tommy is still, and will forever be Tommy. His hold tightens as his patience is weakening. Not with you, never with you. But with your (hopefully soon to be ex)boyfriend.

It’s quiet for a while, Joel knows how the night ends after this. You’ll uncurl yourself from his side and immediately apologize upon seeing the tear stains. He’ll make you both a drink, depending on how you’re feeling or the time of day it could be coffee, alcohol, or Joel’s specialty, Peppermint Hot chocolate. Every drink is always served with a glass of water to re-hydrate you. He will give you clothes (his Pj’s) to relax in before you snuggle under a comfy blanket on the couch. He’ll turn on a shitty movie for you to laugh at. Sometimes you’ll fall asleep and he’ll move you to his bed while he takes the couch for the night, or you’ll leave with a kiss on the cheek and endless “thank you’s” falling from your lips. It’s such a predictable routine he already knows you want a hot chocolate tonight, and the movie you’re going to watch is Judge Dredd from the 80’s with Sylvester Stallone. He knows you so well, so well that he’s shocked when you don’t uncurl yourself from his chest.

“Sweetheart?” The nickname has you pressing further into his chest, your arms tighten around him almost as if you’re afraid he’ll leave.

“Do you remember the night we all met?” Though mumbled into his chest, he still hears and it still makes his heart jump when he thinks of it, even though his heart has been broken ever since. His simple “mhm” seems to be enough to lure you to continue.

“It’s the perfect love story really, we catch eyes from across a crowded room and we’ve been together ever since.. “ your head suddenly lifts from his chest, still close, almost sitting in his lap with your hands on his pecs and Joel is trying to think of the most disgusting things he knows of to keep his little friend in check. Without noticing his hands are resting on your waist under your shirt, drawing little comforting circles into your skin.

“But it’s all a lie.” One of your hands slowly moves up to the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the uncut hair your are currently twirling between your fingers. The sensation has Joel imagining things he could never tell you, like the thousands of times he’s dreamt of you locking his head between your thighs as your fingers grip his hair for dear life. Endless moans falling from your lips while your back arches.

“He wasn’t the one I was staring at Joel.” You whisper, the sultry tone isn’t lost on him. Nor is the feather like stroking of his collarbone, your fingers stop playing with his hair as they slowly move to hold his head, never fully leaving him, the ghosting touches sending a warm shiver down his spine. He wants to ask what you’re doing, to softly push you away, to remind you that you’re technically still with Tommy, even if he desperately wished you weren’t. But he doesn’t. He just holds you tighter as one of his hands finds it’s way to hold your lower back beneath your shirt.

“Who were you looking at baby?” He knows he’s a bad brother as your lips draw closer and doesn’t put up a fight against it, he knows he’s a horrible person when you softly murmur a “you” against his lips and he kisses you, no longer keeping himself in check as you hold his face so gently he barely feels it. The kiss is what he imagined millions of times and so much more than he could’ve fantasized. You’re so soft and passionate with every push of your mouth against his. He can’t believe you’re real if he’s honest, absolutely perfect in every way possible. His guilt disappearing as you detach your perfect mouth from his only to situate yourself closer to him (if even possible) before pulling him back to you with force.

He can’t remember how long it’s been since he’s felt so loved, so fucking aroused from kissing someone and he starts questioning if he ever has. He has to hold back a groan as you depart for air, heaving as you lean back to look at him. God he’s never seen you more gorgeous than right now, limbs wrapped all around his body with your face flushed, lips swollen and glistening from kissing him. Your eyes watching him very carefully and calculating. You always look cute when thinking he decides as you ever so softly bite your bottom lip.

The moment is suddenly over has you quickly remove yourself from him and running over to your bag, and Joel’s terrified. Not of the possibility that Tommy will never forgive him but of the thought that he hurt you or made you uncomfortable. The thought that you regret it has his heart shattering across the living room floor. He’s quick to get up and call after you, already trying to do damage control.

“Sweetheart? God I’m so sorry, i should’ve asked before-“ a hand slapping over his mouth has his apology dying on his lips. Fuck your hands are so soft against him. He stands dumbly as you hold your phone to your ear. The air feels thick as he hears the ringing then the receiver clicking. A slurred “hello” flows throughout the room as you don’t take your eyes off of Joel’s. You called Tommy, you called your boyfriend, and you’re going to tell him what happened begging for another chance. Leaving Joel to clean up the mess you will make. And he’d do it, he would do it for eternity if he got to kiss you again.

You’re both at a standstill as he hears Tommy already rattling off an apology for ruining your birthday, you hand twitches against Joel as he calls you “my girl” through the phone. You’re still looking at Joel with a blank stare, eyes unblinking as Tommy goes on and on with excuses before you finally interrupt him after what seemed like hours to Joel.

“We’re over Tommy.” This seems to have left Tommy speechless, and not only Tommy. Joel’s eyes are wide as he gently guides your hand away from his mouth and taking a step forward, you don’t wait for a response as you quickly end to call and push yourself back into Joel’s loving embrace, you fit together like you were made for each other, two perfectly carved puzzle pieces. Joel lifts you into his arms as your legs wrap around him. Your kiss never once breaking as he takes the both of you to his room. The whole way there throughout messy kisses and moans all he’s doing is thanking every god he doesn’t believe in that his brother is a man whore.

I hope y’all enjoyed,🫶

[abbatoirablaze]

At Death's Door, Chapter 12

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: language, mentions of death.

Sam’s POV

“I need to speak with you in private,” I said to Dean.  I nodded at Dahlia and she gave me a look, but me and Dean walked a little ways away, “I need dad’s journal.  Now.”

“What’s up your butt?”

“The journal!”

“Whatever,” Dean shrugged, handing it over.  He glanced over to Dahlia, while I immediately thought to my dream of Hannah, going to the page about Wendigos, “what’s going on, Sammy?”

“This!”

“Aw come on man,” Dean said with a half smirk, “Wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or northern Michigan.  I’ve never even heard of one this far west.”

“Think about it Dean,” I said swiftly, “the claws.  The way it can mimic a human voice…”

He almost didn’t want to believe it.  His jaw tightened as he processed what I was really saying, “great.”

“Dean…I had a dream on the way here.  Of Hannah.  She said she was here.  That it was a Wendigo.”

“you had a dream?  That’s how you came up with the idea of what we’re dealing with?  ” Dean asked, “do you know how you sound?”

“Crazy,” I said, “I know…but think about it Dean.”

“Well then this is useless,” he said, referring to the gun, “wait, if Hannah is magically popping up in dreams, why would she come to you?  Why not me?”

“If I knew what you dreamed about, I probably wouldn’t show up there either if I was a woman,” I laughed, handing him back the journal, and heading towards the group.  I turned around though,  “we gotta get these people to safety.  Wendigos are dangerous, Dean.”

Dean didn’t answer.  He just stood there.  I walked back to the camp, “alright, it’s time to go.  Things have gotten more complicated.  There’s no other options, here.  We have to get out of the woods.”

“What?” Hailey asked, looking worried.

“Kid, whatever is out there don’t worry.  I think I can handle it, “Roy said.  I looked at Dahlia and mouthed ‘Wendigo.’

Her eyes got wide. 

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” I said, “If you shoot this thing, you’re just gonna make it mad.  We have to leave.  Now.”

“One, you’re talking nonsense,” Roy growled, “two, you’re in no position to give anybody orders.  There isn’t any way I shoot this thing and it stays standing.  It’s a creature.  Creatures can be killed.”

“Relax,” Dean said in a commanding tone, “we’re not debating this.  Sammy is right!”

“Look we never should have let you come out here in the first place.  I’m trying to protect you.”

Roy started coming towards me, “you protect me?  I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you goodnight.”

“Yeah?” I asked, “it’s a damn near perfect hunter.  And it’s smarter than you. And it’s gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here.”

The idiot began laughing in my face, “you know you’re crazy right?”

“yeah?  You ever hunt a we-“ I began but Dean and Dahlia pushed me away.

“Chill out,” Dean said, “he won’t get it.  Stop trying to make him understand it, Sammy.  Because we all know that no matter how well you reason with him, he won’t get it.”

Hailey began calling for Roy to get him to back down. 

Soon enough we were taking the lead.  Hailey had gotten Roy to calm down enough for us to give a basic idea of what was hunting us, without fully telling them.  Roy still insisted we were crazy. 

Dahlia’s POV

Roy was taken and I felt my ring glow. 

FUCK.

‘Dahlia,’ I could hear my uncle calling.  I put the ring on and vanished into the woods.  Roy watched his body go up into the trees, as the Wendigo disappeared.  Sam and Dean were blurred, but they tried to follow.  Finally, he turned to me.

“YOU!”

“They tried to warn you,” I said calmly.  He growled in anger and tried to attack me, but his soul pushed through me like air, “you can’t hurt me, Roy.”

He screamed in frustration as he hit the dirt.  His frustrated grunts became a strangled cry, “I wasn’t ready.  I didn’t want to go.”

“I know,” I sighed, sitting on the cold ground.  I patted his back, and offered my hand, “come with me, and I can show you the other side.”

“No,” he growled angrily, “I’m not trusting you, you little bitch!”

“I can’t force you,” I said, “but once I leave, you’ll be trapped in the woods forever.  There is no second offer.  When I leave, things will change…and it won’t be for the better.  You’ll forget your humanity over time.  I don’t think you want that to happen.”

“You don’t know what I want,” he groaned, “leave me here.   Leave me alone.”

“As you wish, Roy.” I sighed.  I turned my ring clockwise and was in front of my uncle.  He sat on a leather backed chair, checking names off a list. 

“He didn’t want to go with you?”

I shook my head, “no uncle.  I’m sorry.”

He sighed, striking the name through, “pity.  He was going to go upstairs.  Poor soul will be nothing more than a feral spirit soon enough.”

I didn’t respond. 

After a minute he looked up at me, “you only needed to get him…the rest of you are safe for the night.”

“Do you know where she is?”

He nodded, “she’s close.”

“Is...is she?”

“Going to die?”

I nodded.

“No.  Not here my dear.  My daughter should live quite the long life, provided everything goes according to plan.”

“What does that mean?”

“Now is not the time for questions,” he said, “go back before they notice that you are missing.”

Dean’s POV

When I woke up, I was strung up in what looked like an abandoned mineshaft.  My vision was kind of fuzzy, and my head was killing me. 

“hey, you okay?”

“Ugh,” I groaned, “yeah.”

From beside me Ben was trying to wake Hailey up.  Sammy cut me down and Ben did the same for his sister.  Dahlia helped Ben get Hailey into the corner.  We followed.

“Oh my god,” I heard Dahlia whisper, “are they…alive?”

I looked to see Hailey, Ben, and Sam halfway over to Tommy.  His head was hanging down, as he was strung up.  My eyes went to the petite blonde hanging beside him.  I could see a gash on her shoulder, and dried blood caked down her neck and chest. 

Hailey called for her brother, as Dahlia cut Hannah down.

“Han..Hannah,” I gasped, wanting to go over to her.  Fear gripped my body.  I couldn’t see her chest moving, “Hannah, wake up.  HANNAH!”

I heard a gasp, but it was Tommy who had woken up.  It scared Hailey momentarily, but Sammy cut him down.  Dahlia carried Hannah over to me and  was doing CPR when she took a heavy breath.  Hannah immediately shifted to her side and coughed up some blood. 

When she rolled onto her back, she gave an exhausted smile, “Dean?  I’m not hallucinating again, am I?  You’re here to save us?”

I shook my head, moving some of her hair from her face, “I’m here sweetheart.”

She took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes.  I could see tears causing streaks of blood to melt away from her face.  I reached into the pack beside me, and pushed myself up, happy that I’d found flare guns. 

“Those will work!” Sammy smiled.

Together we formulated a plan.  I walked out front with Sammy watching my side.  Dahlia was carrying Hannah, and Ben was supporting his older siblings.  We didn’t make it far in our ascent through the mineshaft before we heard growling.  Sammy immediately came beside me and held up a flare gun. 

“Looks like someone’s home for supper.”

“We’ll never outrun it,” Hailey whined, “it’ll catch us!”

I looked at her, before looking to my brother, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Stay with Sam,” I said stepping out front, “he’s gonna get you out of here.”

“What are you gonna do?” Hailey asked.

“Dean?” Hannah asked. My heart ached at how worried she looked for me.

“I’ll be fine sweetheart.  Stay with Dahlia, okay,” I smiled, with a wink.  Before I could regret it, I began running, attracting the Wendigo, “It’s Chow time you freaking bastard.  YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT, BRING IT ON BABY.  I TASTE GOOD!”

I quickly pushed ahead, and flagged Sam and the rest of the group to go another way, before heading down my path. 

“RIGHT OVER HERE!” I yelled, hearing the growling coming closer. I made my way down a long corridor, trying to goad him towards me, “HEY YOU WANT SOME WHITE MEAT, BITCH!  I’M RIGHT HERE.”

I heard screaming and Sam yelling, so I ran.  I gave it all my might when I heard Sam discharge his flare gun. 

SHIT!

I ran until the screaming stopped, and I could see the Wendigo had cornered them.

“HEY!”

It turned around and I aimed for his chest.  It was a perfect shot as I caught him.  The flare ignited the body and it burned. 

“Not bad, huh?”

I gave a crooked smile to the group.  In the back I could see Dahlia supporting Hannah.  As they got past me, I noticed Hailey had stayed behind.

“You weren’t looking for your father, were you?”

“What?”

“That girl,” she said with a smirk, “she’s the same one that pretended to be an activist.  Told me to get Tommy out of the woods in the first place…you really do know her?”

“I guess you could say that.”

She got a coy grin on her face, and I raised a brow at her, “Does she mean something to you?  Is she really your girlfriend?”

“It’s not li-“

“You don’t have to lie.”

“She’s a family friend,” I admitted, “she does the same thing we do.  My dad had actually gone to track her, because she was trying to follow something bigger.  If we got to her before my dad did, I don’t have a clue where he could be.”

“Are you gonna tell her how you feel?”

“What?”

“That girl?” she asked, walking past me, towards the other voices, “she clearly likes you too.”

“Hannah doesn’t feel that way,” I said without thinking, “I kissed her a few months ago and she hasn’t said a word to me since.”

“Really?” she asked, “because your name was the first one to cross her lips.  When your friend Dahlia cut her down, and got her in the corner, the first thing she did was hug you.  You didn’t notice that?”

“We’ve always been close.”

“Well you are the one that mattered to her in that moment.  So, maybe you should take it for what it is…”

Chapter 13

[wellfell]

 it's not intentional , the way her breath leaves her in a quiet giggle when he talks . balls out , as if he shows any effort to keep them in his pants or cover up — akina has come to like his relaxed state more than she'd probably like to admit . yesterday he let her break a glass against a man's head for staring at her for too long , the other day they made out in the lobby . his laid back personality gave her courage in a way . she could burn the world and he'd stand back and clap , he had something in him ; no matter what she did , he was always smiling as pretty as ever . dai made her a free woman , she had no cage to rattle and no time to think about the dead brother or their clashing clans . he's even cracked the code of her anger – whenever they fought , he'd say something wrong and it'd just make akina giggle out of nowhere . if there wasn't a war brewing between them , they'd probably make a beautiful pair . akina isn't an easy woman , and she's made sure even goro knew that . goro , whom she needed , whom she respected to some degree until that fateful night of revelation . ❛ i don't want anyone else to see those balls . ❜  and she means it , he should know the lengths of her possessiveness by now . embarrassingly easy to be pulled against him , bite her lip as he starts mumbling so close to her face . how is she supposed to pay attention ? when the ink on his flesh looks ravishing , when he looks exceptionally beautiful when he's telling her he'll have to kill her .

 she doesn't care about what he's saying , he can tell because she's grabbing his face between her hands and kissing him . a soft hum , pleased with the way his lips and tongue touch hers , glide against each other . her head tilts , smiling a little between their kisses and licking her lips when they pull away at last – ❛ we can't go to kamakura either . though that's far away . ❜  she mumbles while pulling away to head for the closet . opening it , going through some of his pants and shirts , choosing a pair of loose creamy pants and a plain black shirt . the clothes they're going to burn before leaving here , probably , different attire in every city they run to . their stay in this small one had been stretched too long because it was the safest location considering both of their clans , but they had to leave soon . ❛ i don't think we have danger near us at least not on my part . ❜  the pants and shirt was thrown on the bed as she walks toward the mirror again . her lipgloss deep red , cherry flavored and cherry colored , rubbing on her plump lips tenderly before they close to spread the color everywhere . her gaze doesn't meet his , she's too focused on fixing the lip gloss but she mumbles ; ❛ i would let you tear my chest and hold my heart . in front of your men , maybe that's when they'd understand that you care about me more ? when i die in your arms ? ❜  sweetness crawls back into her deep voice , softened by longing . akina was never going to have dai yamazaki , not when they were young , not when she got married to goro and not now . the thought is enough to sour her mood , she toys with the applier of her lip gloss as she keeps thrusting it in and out of the soft , cherry scented slime inside the tiny bottle . ❛ . . do we have to kill each other to prove something ? that's kind of a bummer . ❜  her round hips settle on the soft mattress , brushing her thumb on the lipgloss bottle mindlessly . ❛ i would be your cute little wife . i’d make you dinner and give you a blowjob after your evening coffee . ❜ / @yaoogui

    * cont.

[80-ursa-major]

binged midnight monologuesmass.

SPOILERS

went in blind so when SUDDENLY VAMPIRES i was like what the fuck. And then they killed Riley aaaahhh. But I saw he was on the next episode so I kept watching and then he died again. For real this time. noooooooooo! And then I thought I might as well finish it and pre-emptive tl;dr it was laughably bad.

the priest actor people praise? zero charisma, he was like you got an average joe from the streets and told him to recite sermons. and his voice droned and droned omg stop talking! Riley's monologue wasn't good either tbh but his voice (ok fine and his face) was easier on the ears (and eyes) so at least you could watch. But the teacher lady argh her monologues were cringe and then they fucking replayed them so she could have the final montage and I just couldn't do it. She does that thing with her eyes, they're so open and not blinking like she's trying to hypnotize you?? Idk maybe her husband told her it looks good on camera. Btw I was shook when I found out because he didn't add even one chaste kiss with Riley but he had no issue with five uninterrupted minutes of a gross demon sucking her neck. Ooof.

I almost forgot the worst monologue not because of the theme or the actor (at least he put some passion in instead of blahblah) but the TIMING. The doctor tells you, the policeman there's a contagion and idk maybe hopefully you have some ideas to minimize victims? And he's like I'M THE VICTIM! And launches on a long-ass life-story about how he's the best dude but the evil west still hates him cause he's a muslim. Like sir this is a wendy's. The show is reaching its end, the apocalypse is coming, the (non-white?) lady simply came to you because you are the only cop so this is literally your job. So many episodes and you couldn't give this man a proper place to rightly explode about this injustice. Ironically enough mr. flanagan this might be a macro-aggresion pfffft. Oh and his son needed a little more screentime or at least show when he took the eucharist but then again imagine if he had had a monologue too, lord help me! XD

As for the vampire (did he forget he could mimic voices? he was like the only one who should have gotten a monologue but didn't bah) come on now! I know what the bible says about angels. I get that some people had a vested interest in pretending he was helping them but this creature looks like the most generic movie demon. Did the oil spill affect the water and everyone's iq dropped or something? Speaking of iq I love Riley but my boy is pretty dumb too. Like self-immolate in front of everyone to convince them or go to the mainland to convince them to help. Don't fucking traumatise the woman you love who already lost a baby. It's even dumber cause he couldn't stop seeing the dead teen so he should know what it does to a person.

Ending was batshit! Like what was this dude's plan? How would they all immediately control themselves? No wonder everyone just goes crazy and for added dumbassery they burn their homes and then achieve clarity and accept they have to die. Sure sure no one was selfish enough to hide in the shade of the trees or under a blanket. Even Bev (best acting probably) just starts digging lmao. In a way this was a good comedy. I also like the tender love Riley's parents had and his brother escaping with his gf was great. But can they really reach the mainland? And who'll be paying for her therapies? And if the demon had died earlier wouldn't everyone else be cured??? Oh well no one cares.

most ironically enough despite the ten thousand long monologues the best part was just those two lines Riley scribbled and wasn't even there to deliver them himself. DUST!!!

lastly and most importantly fuck you fuck you fuck you for those dead cats. Should have stopped watching right there.

[free-for-all-fics]

Part 2 of 3 of the Crossover Prompt! This part is probably the longest, as this is where the meat of the story/prompt happens. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! ⚕️🤍

Although Louis, very reluctantly, returned to France as an acclaimed war hero in March 1918, his personal life soon took a turn for the worse. By the time he arrived at Madeleine’s house which he could no longer call home, she had already received a call from John’s family, telling her that they received a telegram from the War Department notifying them John had been killed in action. Enclosed with the telegram was John’s will. Despite their marriage collapsing, he refused to abandon her in her very fragile emotional, mental, and physical state.

Ever since she discovered she was pregnant, she lived the life of a recluse. She suddenly stopped going out in public one day and never left the house or accepted any visitors since. A boy delivered her groceries. Every week she left him money and a list by the back door, and gave him instructions to leave them by that same back door. She always waited until he went away before unlocking the door. She kept away from the front door and windows. She prayed every night that nobody would ever see her stomach before either John married her or Louis came home. When John’s family called to tell her the news of his death, she barely said anything before hanging up. When they came to the house and brought over everything John left to Louis and Madeleine, she didn’t answer the door. They waited a few moments, but she didn’t come. So they assumed she wasn’t at home and left the box of items on the doorstep. The door opened just a crack. Arms came reaching out from the darkness. They quickly snatched the box and brought it inside, then firmly shut and locked the door within seconds. John’s family didn’t notice because they were long gone by that point.

While she accepted Louis’ help and support, he could tell it was only because she had nobody else to turn to. John’s family could never know he fathered a child out of wedlock with a married woman. Madeleine’s family could never know she soiled their good name by laying with a man who wasn’t her husband and birthed his child. The scandal would break up their families forever, and that was the last thing she wanted. She didn’t have an alternative. She was far enough along that their only viable option by that point was to bide their time so that they could convincingly pass off the baby as Louis’. They’d likely have to fabricate a story about the baby being born premature. While she understood the risks that came with it, including the risk of either her and/or the baby’s death, she decided she wanted to give birth in the privacy of her home. It would be easier to lie about the baby’s birthdate and parentage if the only witnesses were Louis, a midwife, and maybe a wet nurse. She knew that. And he knew she knew that. But still Louis could see it in her eyes that she didn’t want him there, not really. Every time she looked at him, she probably thought about how it should’ve been John, the actual father of her baby and the man she truly loved, beside her throughout her pregnancy. Not him. Not Louis.

She often cried, as if the ferocity of it alone might’ve been enough to bring John back. As if by the sheer force of her grief the news would’ve been undone. He was her love, her husband-to-be, and he couldn’t be gone. Louis tried to hold her back, to calm her before she hurt someone or herself, but, in her hysteria, she was too strong, too wild. After whirling about, unable to look through her puffy eyes at the photographs on the wall, she tumbled out of the house onto the rain-kissed lawn in the middle of the night. As if she were desperate for a breath of fresh air, for a reprieve from the suffocating sorrow she felt trapped in. He watched her go, dissolved in the kind of despair that can take one's mind prisoner and never give it back. Her wailing carried in the damp air, freezing him in place. It was more than crying, it was the kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a person drained of all hope.

She sank to her knees in the middle of the backyard, not caring for the damp mud or wet grass that dirtied her clothing, staining it brown and green. The skin of her hands became stained with the same colors as she tore the grass from the earth and clawed through the dirt, as if trying to dig a hole for herself. Her tears mingled with the rain and her gasping wails echoed around the neighborhood. The pain that flowed from her was as palpable as the frigid fall wind and soon the only person at her side was Louis. He placed his hands on her shoulders. That’s all he could do. She struggled to keep her tears silent as she took shaky breaths and looked up to the watery skies. There were no stars that she could see that night. But she had to believe they were still there, somewhere just beyond her human perception, still twinkling in the soft darkness of nothing, in all of its shadowed velvet embrace. She had to believe heaven was just beyond that darkness. She had to believe John was safe up there, comfortable and warm. To look down at the earth would be to imagine him lying cold in a box, bereft of her cuddles and goodnight kisses. So she kept her head up.

Louis had to take her back inside before she caught her death of cold. She fought him, accused him of having done something to get John killed on purpose, motivated by possessiveness or jealousy. She called him many vile things he didn’t care to repeat, including a murderer.

“Never mind the epithets. You don’t have to swear at me to get rid of me.”

“I never want to see you again. Never, never as long as I live! Get out of here! Get out, get out, get out!”

“I’ll get out.”

He gave her the benefit of the doubt and pretended that she didn’t understand the full weight of what she was saying and didn’t actually mean it. He brushed it off as her just needing an outlet, something or someone she could vent to and take all her volatile emotions out on whenever she was feeling overwhelmed. If it had to be him, so be it. It wasn’t the first time she had an outburst like that. Ever since she learned of John’s death, it was a recurring behavior she exhibited. He summoned doctors, did everything they instructed him to do to help her whenever she had an episode. But no matter how bad things became, he’d never send her away. It was out of the question. No matter how many doctors or specialists recommended or suggested it, he’d never even entertain the thought. He’d never put her in an asylum. Maybe a sanitarium would’ve done her some good, but she never would’ve gone willingly, and he’d never deprive her of her autonomy by sending her someplace unfamiliar without her consent.

She belonged at home, so home was where she stayed. She wasn’t crazy. The war made her lonely, depressed, and traumatized, and her pregnancy only exacerbated her psyche. Even if he swore up and down John’s death was an accident, that it was the tragic outcome of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, that he did everything he could to try to save him, it wouldn’t have changed anything. He knew what she felt and what she thought every single day as her pregnancy progressed, even without her saying a word to him. And it was that it should’ve been John holding her hand as she pushed and brought her child into the world. Not him. Not Louis.

She gave birth to a son, also named John. She loved her son. She really did. She loved him more than life itself. But, less than a month after she gave birth, she refused to hold or nurse the baby. She told Louis to take John Jr. away from her before she did something she’d regret. They could get a wet nurse to feed him until he was weened. She couldn’t do it anymore. She wasn’t ready to be a mother. She was afraid of herself. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly had these horrible thoughts about hurting or killing the baby. They wouldn’t go away, even when she shut her eyes to go to sleep. She’d never ever do anything to hurt John Jr. if she was in her right mind. But she wasn’t in her right mind and she didn’t trust herself to be near her son. She went up and down, down and up. She wanted her mind to be quiet, to give her some semblance of peace and normalcy, but it wouldn’t.

She was so unpredictable at times that Louis kept a close eye on her just to be on the safe side. He wanted to trust her. He wanted to believe that she would never do anything to harm either the baby or herself, but he couldn’t be too careful. Although it was extremely difficult and painful, he did as she asked. He kept the boy away from his mother. Doctors who examined her said she was suffering from “puerperal insanity,” a condition with an unknown cause. They could only theorize that her moods fluctuated throughout her pregnancy constantly and now that the baby was no longer in her womb, her hormones were causing her emotions to go haywire to overcompensate for the emptiness within her body. She’d likely experience random spikes and drops in mood until her hormone levels normalized, and the doctors had no accurate way of knowing when exactly that would be. It could be weeks or, more likely, months. They prescribed her some medications. They helped, but they weren’t a miracle cure.

Louis was all too familiar with walking along the road to recovery. It was a long road ahead. And the road to mental recovery was much, much, much longer than physical recovery. She walked along that road. When he was on it, he never walked alone. He walked with you. He walked with Nurse Haydon. So he walked with Madeleine, went at her pace. Whenever she came to a fork in the road and was confused and didn’t know which way to take, he just put up a signpost that said, “Not that way. This way.”

Louis’ name was listed on the baby’s birth certificate as the father due to the presumption of legitimacy. Nobody but he and Madeleine knew that the boy wasn’t actually his. With John Sr. deceased, all they could do for him now was share custody of his son and raise him to the best of their ability. To make the situation more bearable, they told themselves it was what John would’ve wanted. They were brothers in arms, yes, but John had not only been part of Captain Renault’s regiment and under his command. He was his friend. And to Madeleine, John was so much more than her lover. He was her best friend, her soulmate, if such a thing existed. They each felt they owed it to him to put aside their hard feelings and do what was best for his child.

No matter what cruel or accusatory things people said behind their backs, Louis recognized and raised the boy as if he were his own. To him, he was his son in every sense of the word except blood. While he became disillusioned upon discovering Madeleine’s affair and the love he once had for her was long gone, he loved her son more than most things. Even if the boy didn’t resemble Louis at all, they’d make up convincing lies about how he took after a grandparent and would do anything else in their power to try to put a stop to the rumors. It worked…for a few months.

Near the end of the war in 1918, nurses and the rest of the world were suddenly faced with a large-scale flu epidemic. It was uncertain where the virus first emerged, but it quickly spread through western Europe and around the world— First in ports, then from city to city along main transportation routes. This epidemic was deadlier than the war itself and was responsible for a majority of the deaths involving nurses. During WWI, over two-hundred army nurses and thirty-six navy nurses died while in service. By the end of the war, nearly three-hundred Red Cross nurses had also lost their lives.

15 April 1919

More people are falling ill from this sickness and even more have died. I heard that many of the people who left France have since formed a new community space elsewhere to quarantine, hopeful that they’re a safe distance away and won’t get touched by the virus. I have my doubts. I hate to be so pessimistic, but I believe it has spread to the point where nowhere is truly safe. To believe otherwise would be to hang onto false hope. I can understand why they would choose to do so. I hung onto false hope once, and it kept me going for a time. Without it, I probably wouldn’t have survived as long as I did. I probably wouldn’t have survived at all. But I didn’t realize until it was too late that it only blinded me to the truth, prevented me from seeing what was right in front of me all along. It caused me much more grief in the end. Once the beautiful dream was shattered, dying greatly appealed to me. It would’ve been a much more bearable sensation than what I felt in that moment. But you saved me, sweetheart, by showing me how I could save myself. I imagine that, despite the epidemic, you’ve chosen to stay behind to care for the sick and the wounded out of a sense of duty and responsibility to save others like you saved me. You never struck me as one to show fear in the line of duty, even when faced with the risks of infection or death itself. I remember how you told me that if you were to die so that others may live, it was a sacrifice you were ready and willing to make.

I commend your courage, my darling, but please, do everything you can to keep yourself safe. I’ve seen the mortality reports. So many nurses have already lost their lives. Too many. I watch the news closely, hoping your name will never come up amongst the deceased. I don’t know what I would do if you were one of them. While I wish I could be by your side now, I have people here who need me. All I can do for you is send you letters and hope that they reach you. I hope that, wherever you are, you’re not under a quarantine that would prevent my words from reaching you. I eagerly await your reply. Please, write to me as soon as you can so I know you’re alive and well. I fear I’ll go mad with anxiety if I don’t hear from you soon.

Louis xxx

Tragedy struck when Madeleine had taken ill during the Great Influenza epidemic in 1919. John Jr., whom Louis lovingly called Johnny, was still only a baby by that point and at high risk of contracting the disease from his mother. Both she and Louis were afraid that she’d infect the very young boy. Inoculation was particularly successful in preventing flu and greatly reduced the number of casualties so, in an attempt to protect him from the epidemic, Louis kept himself and Johnny away from Madeleine upon her request. They agreed that keeping the boy away was for his own good. Nobody saw her except doctors and nurses.

Despite the best efforts of medical personnel, her malady only worsened, presumably exacerbated by her grief and desire to be reunited with John. Ever since his death, she kept a piece of him in a box under her bed along with his unfinished letter to her. The fires of the crematorium had taken John beyond her mortal touch yet the fabric remained, a faded brown jacket of no importance to anyone but her. It wasn’t the jacket from his military uniform. That one had been cut by the doctors when they attempted to save him. This jacket was one he used to wear often in the winter. In his will, he left it to Louis. It would’ve fit him; he and John were roughly the same size, the same build. But Madeleine refused to part with it ever since she found it in that cardboard box his family dropped off. It smelled like him. And even after his familiar scent dissipated, she still wrapped herself in it, its fleece lining offering her warmth and comfort that John couldn’t anymore. It protected her from her bad thoughts. It kept her nightmares at bay. Ever since she received that jacket, she never once thought about John’s blood spreading through his military jacket, staining it an even darker shade of brown not dissimilar to the coffee she used to make him in the mornings.

When she heard the news of John’s death, death was all she thought about. She experienced suicidal ideation as she obsessively thought about her own death. Humans are so…so alone in the end. To die…it must be horrible. To be separated from the one you love, to walk all the way to the unknown, alone. John, Louis, all those men who fought in the war had more courage in their smallest finger than she did in her entire body…even the worst ones. She couldn't do it, she couldn't die. Not while a vestige of John was growing inside her. That little life still needed her. As she laid dying in her sickbed, she no longer thought of death. It was bitterly ironic, wasn’t it? It was difficult for the mortuary workers to remove the jacket from her grasp as rigor mortis set in, but they managed. Louis requested that she was buried with that article of clothing. Honoring his request, the funeral director had it neatly folded and placed in her casket at her feet. Just before the casket was closed, he asked for a few moments alone with her. He said his goodbyes and placed John’s final letter to her in the folds of his brown jacket so nobody would see it. Had he been able to stay by her bedside to hear it, Louis believed it would’ve been her dying wish to be buried with those mementos of John. Her heart always belonged to him. Louis hoped they were together, that they were free to love each other in death as they did in life, unburdened by the limitations of existence.

27 April 1919

I buried Madeleine today. I didn’t bring Johnny to the funeral. He’s so little and I didn’t want him exposed to all that mess. He was looked after by a neighbor while services for his mother were held. Of dry faces, there were none. The funeral was sweet sorrow. In the sorrow of death was the proof of love, of the bonds that existed beyond our reality, beyond the spacetime, matter and energy that made our world real. While everyone in attendance bore expressions of raw pain and silent anguish, myself included, the funeral was, above all, a celebration of her life and accomplishments. Memories about her were shared, stories about her were told, a few kind words about her were said, until the casket was finally lowered into the ground. The mourners departed soon after that. They offered me handshakes, half-hugs and pats on the shoulder, but none of them wanted to stay too long after they gave their condolences. Even the clergyman had gone. I couldn’t blame them. Death is a tragedy in the young and a right of passage for the old and so bring different kinds of mourning. Though it’s so intimately a part of life, death often makes people uncomfortable. While death is interwoven into every aspect of the human experience, it’s within our human nature to distance ourselves from it. I don’t know why, but I lingered. It was just me, the gravediggers, and her.

It rained the day before. Under my boots the squelch of the mud beneath the wet grass was as noisy as the static in my head. The grief surged with every expelled breath, always reaching higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by my long intakes of the damp spring air. Tears began to spill from my eyes onto the newly growing grass. She laid in the earth right in front of me and, as I watched shovels of dirt being placed over her, all I could think was, “I won’t return to a home where she both is and isn’t. I can’t. Though her body won’t be there, her presence will be inescapable. Her memory will cast its shadow over the entire house, permeating every wall of every room and the land immediately surrounding it. It’s not my house anymore. It’s hers. It always has been. It always will be.” I’m so sorry if my words frighten you, my darling. To be honest, they frighten me too. But I’ll be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. Please, write to me and tell me of something happy. Something that made you smile or laugh. I could use some good news right about now. I love you for forever and always.

Louis xxxx

3 May 1919

I’ve not yet had the courage to return to the house I once called home just yet, so Johnny and I have been living in a nice little apartment for now. It’s not much, but it’ll be enough for just the two of us until I can find something better. I know you’ll admonish me for it but, in the days following Madeleine’s funeral, I was so focused on looking after him that I neglected to take care of myself. I was able to uphold a routine of feeding, bathing, and dressing him, but I failed to remember to shower or make food for myself. I was running on autopilot. But this morning it suddenly hit me all at once, like the gravity of my situation finally set in. Before I sat down to pen you this letter, I took time for myself to get cleaned up, eat something, and just sit in silence and process everything that happened in the last few days. My ex-wife is dead. My friend is dead. John and Madeleine’s families can never know about Johnny’s true parentage lest they become embroiled in scandal from which they’d never recover. There’s no other family to care for Johnny but me. For better or worse, I’m all he has left in the world - aside from my sister and her family, of course. Poor little orphan. Those who are destined to live during times of war and social upheaval are victims of a cruel fate— unable to find comfort in the past or peace in the present. They are the spiritual orphans of the world. He’s still napping, but he’ll be waking up and demanding his breakfast soon. I envy him. He doesn’t know a thing about any of it.

Louis xx

Initially, despite the loss of Madeleine, Louis enjoyed a happy life following his discharge, hanging out with his military colleagues and enjoying social activities. Eventually, however, his life began a downward spiral. As the years passed and peoples minds cleared, some of Louis’ fellow comrades, in particular friends to the deceased, began to suspect that Stevenson’s death was no accident. Whispers began to spread amongst the war veterans, which turned to rumors, then speculation and eventually quiet suspicion. Especially as Johnny grew older and started to resemble John more and more. Such brave men in the battlefield became such cowards outside of it. None of them had the courage to ever confront Louis directly, nor did they have the courage to understand the difference between honorable self-sacrifice and murder. They saw only what they wanted to see. Ultimately, even though they had no proof of guilt, Louis’ reputation was ruined. Realizing what his fellow soldiers were thinking, he stopped attending the military reunions and, after noticing the strange looks that his neighbors were giving him, became less and less sociable. Madeleine and John were dead, yet they continued to influence everything and everyone around them.

Nurse Haydon was only partially correct when she said Louis’ hearing loss was temporary and would return. His hearing did return, but not to the normal she had described. When Louis got a second opinion from an otolaryngologist, it only confirmed for him what he already suspected. He suffered permanent damage in one of his ears from the artillery shell blast and, as a result, became partially deaf in one ear. He had to adapt and grow accustomed to his new normal. Despite this, he heard every word of what was said about him. There was a silver lining in that, based on how well he was able to listen and respond to people while engaged in conversation, nobody would ever know he had hearing loss. But even if people believed he couldn’t hear them, Johnny had ears too. Louis didn’t want any malicious gossip coming back around and reaching his son. He feared that, at his age, the impressionable boy would be taken advantage of and fed lies, bullied, harassed, or otherwise the target of revenge by proxy and punished for the sins of his adoptive father.

7 July 1919

Ever since Madeleine first fell ill, I’ve done a lot of thinking about the worst case scenario and what to do next in the event that she didn’t pull through. Retaining custody and raising her son wasn’t a possibility I took lightly. I considered my options and weighed the pros and cons of him having me, of all people, as a father. I thought about how growing up without a mother might impact him. I thought about a lot of what ifs. I did the same when I considered adoption or temporary guardianship. Now that the funeral is over, I’ve tried to think day in and day out of what would be best for her son, regardless of my own feelings. But my feelings kept getting in the way. I’ve finally come to a decision. I don’t have the heart to give him up or be separated from him forever, but I can’t leave him alone in an apartment or dump him onto the neighbors unannounced while I’m getting my affairs in order. The best thing I can do for him is place him into temporary guardianship with my sister. She and her husband have children of their own and she’s someone I can trust. They’ve agreed to look after Johnny, at least until I can find a house and a job and am ready to resume parenting.

While my life has taken some unexpected twists and turns, I believe that, in time, I’ll be ready to step up and act as a proper father to little Johnny. I’ll send you snaps of Johnny and I together soon. I won’t have him for a while, so I’d better take as many of him while I still can. He’s a handsome little devil. In all the time we’ve known each other, darling, I never once thought I’d have to compete for your love and affections. But when you see his handsome face with his chubby little cheeks, bright eyes, and even brighter smile, I fear he’ll steal your heart right out from under me. Sweet dreams, my darling. And all my love.

Louis xxxx

17 July 1919

Oh, my God. Oh, my... Darling, I can’t keep you safe from the epidemic. In this matter I’m powerless. To lose my friend, my wife, and my son… Must I lose you, too? I don’t know if I can survive it again. My dear, in such a short time I’ve already buried two people that I loved. I can’t go back there. Not again. Your death would destroy me. I fear I wouldn’t be able to survive it. You can’t— You can’t leave me. If I lose you, I'll have nothing. I'll have nothing. Please, don’t go where I can’t follow. If that were to ever happen, I fear I would do something terribly drastic and irreversible in my desperation to be with you. Dear God, What am I saying? I must be going half-mad. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean any of that. Ever since I sent Johnny away, the loneliness has been getting to me. I get sent pictures of him and letters from my sister occasionally, but— It’s just—

It’s so much harder than I thought it’d be. None of the attendees at the funeral saw me when I was laid up in hospital and first learned of her infidelity. They didn’t see how broken I was in mind, body, and spirit. But you did. Your mere presence served as a balm to many of the injured and dying, especially me. You put me back together again, piece by misshapen piece. When I thought I’d never recover from her betrayal, you... You took me through the worst of my grief, and I came out a better man because of it. You helped me pull myself out of a dark place then, and I believe you’ll do so again.

Your missives of encouragement will give me the motivation I need to keep going. Your sweet words will guide me home, wherever that may be. I promise I’ll take better care of myself as long as you promise me you’ll do the same. Please, look after yourself, my dear. Take a break and don’t feel an ounce of shame or guilt about it. I’d so hate for you to overwork yourself and make yourself sick. I love you and am thinking of you always.

Louis xxxxx

8 August 1919

I’ve been busying myself by cleaning out the old house and getting it ready to put on the market. How does that saying go? Don’t put off till tomorrow what can be done today. Well, I kept putting it off. I kept telling myself tomorrow, tomorrow for sure, but tomorrows kept coming and passing me by and still I didn’t lift a finger inside that house. I didn’t even turn the key in the lock! Now I have more work to do than I would’ve if I just mustered up the courage to go inside and sorted through everything within the month after she died. There’s so much to donate, so much to clean… It’s my own fault. I kept chickening out at the last minute. But It’s served me well as a daytime distraction…until night comes and it’s time for me to lay down and sleep. I’m once again alone with my thoughts and have to fight to keep them and my nightmares at bay. Sleeping in our once shared bedroom feels inappropriate, so I’ve been sleeping in the guest bedroom or on the couch. But I still toss and turn as I try to think of something else. Anything else. Ever since Madeleine’s passing, I’ve sometimes felt as if she were looking through the wall at me. I know it's absurd, but I feel as if I’ll never be free from her so long as I’m here. When I write, she never takes her eyes from my hands, and when I call on the telephone, she never takes her eyes from my lips.

Tonight it was even worse, as if she were threatening. She’ll haunt my thoughts like a restless spirit if I don’t leave. I’ll sleep tonight with your picture by my pillow, as I’ve done every night. Your face always helps ward off the ghosts. All I can do for her now is leave her to Rest In Peace. Once I find a house, I’ll pack up all of my and Johnny’s things and finally take him back. Never again will I step back into this haunted house. These next few weeks will be unpredictable. I might not be able to write you again for some time. But please, don’t let my silence discourage you from writing to me. Although I may not have time to answer your letters in the foreseeable future, I’ll read every single one of them. I’ll keep you posted and give you an update as soon as I’m able. I promise. I love you.

Your Louis xxxx

21 November 1919

My dearest, please forgive me for my letters being sparse as of late. Though I had given you notice beforehand and you were aware that this would happen, I can’t even begin to imagine how much my silence must’ve worried you the longer it went on. I’m sorry for whatever stress or anxiety I’ve put you through. But I can explain. So much happened in these last three months that I found little time to write. My days became sacrosanct and, by nightfall, I was too exhausted to even pick up my pen. My eyes were so bleary with exhaustion that I couldn’t see the blank page clearly in front of me, and my eyes wouldn’t refocus no matter how much I blinked. After many weeks of living in a hectic world, everything has finally calmed down now and I can tell you all the marvelous news, darling! I found a house and I’m settled in. While not everything is unpacked yet, I’ve just about finished. I’ve spent these last weeks doing nothing but finalizing details and counting down to the day when I could finally sit down to write to you.

Even better, I have Johnny back with me. I missed him so much. Words can’t convey just how much. Four months felt like forever. Now that I have him back, I don’t plan on letting him out of my sight. Though it’ll take him time to adjust to the change, he’s already developed an insatiable curiosity. He’s already exploring and I’ve taken the necessary precautions of baby-proofing the house, including blocking off the stairs. He’s tuckered himself out, so I put him down for a nap. I must take advantage of this time to write a much longer letter to you. Though it won’t make up for my long silence, it’s a start.

Being a father is absolutely terrifying. I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time or if I’m doing anything correctly. It’s strange how easy it comes, isn't it? Worrying. I don’t think it’ll ever go away. Not so long as I love him. And I love him so very much. I enjoy his company and hope that, as he grows older, our bond will be just as strong. The neighbors, especially the older ladies with grandchildren, have been nice enough to show me what to do and how to do it. They’re all too eager to help me and I’m so grateful. Though I don’t wear my wedding ring anymore, they believe me to be a widower whose wife died from the flu or childbirth. I don’t have the heart to correct them on a technicality. Nobody knows us. Nobody knows John Stevenson.

This is a new environment. Johnny will have the chance to pave his future here without the encumbrance of his father’s memory following him like a terrible ghost. I feel it will be better for him to have a clean slate rather than grow up where he would be constantly reminded that he’s the adoptive son of an “alleged murderer”. If we had stayed, John’s shadow would’ve loomed over him, darkening his every step, his every action, his every breath. Our old neighbors, John’s friends… They would’ve never let Johnny be his own person, with his own thoughts, interests, and talents. They’d take one look at him and only see John, his father. They’d hold him up to some impossible standard, unfairly subject him to competing with his father’s corpse, pressure him into being a carbon copy of the John they once knew.

As Johnny grows, I can see more and more of his father in him. He’s like John in so many ways. He has his eyes, he has his nice hands… but I don’t resent him for it. Quite the opposite. I hope he has his heart. Oh, it was a very good heart. A tender heart to be in such a rugged body. I just know what the people from our old church would say if we hadn’t left. They would say that he can thank God if he grows up to be like him but, while I’m proud that there’s a vestige of John that still lives, he’ll always be Johnny to me. Not John Jr. Just Johnny. He’s more than just his father’s son, and I want him to grow up knowing that. While John’s body returned to the soil, his spirit will watch over us and live in our hearts. It will bring sadness as we transform to this new way of connecting, yet this is part of living.

When you receive letters from me that are so brief they only take up a page or less, you can safely assume it’s because I was distracted or otherwise preoccupied with looking after a very active little boy who’s grown bored with crawling and now has to climb almost everything he sees. I can’t turn my back or my eyes away for a second. I’m always watching him, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself or get into something he isn’t supposed to. All my love.

Louis xxxxx

However, despite the change of scenery, during this period of his life, Louis became little more than a recluse who only left his house to go shopping, attend church, and take his son to school or friends’ houses and pick him up hours later or the next day. His life was nearly dominated by his guilt, not because of the rumors or speculation, but out of genuine remorse and regret over what he did or didn’t do. He often wrote to you that he believed it was his fault. It was his fault they were dead. Madeleine and John. He killed his family. He often thought about what ifs. If he’d done something a little bit differently, then maybe John would still be alive and…

You could tell he was heading down a slippery slope of self-hatred and you had to do something to snap him out of it before he succumbed to his survivor’s guilt. You had to help him realize that human memory was often unreliable, with or without the head trauma he suffered while in service, and that, no matter what happened in the past, he couldn’t let it consume him and suck everything out of him until there was nothing left but a despondent shell.

Due to what you called a family emergency, you had to quit your job and return home rather abruptly. Something happened in 1917. Something changed. Louis wasn’t sure what it was. During this period, you went radio silent and didn’t even have the chance to warn Louis of it beforehand. Your letters just stopped coming one day. His letters to you suddenly went unanswered or were returned to sender, and he didn’t know why. Did you move and live under a different address? Did you find someone else? Did you die? He couldn’t bear to think about it. You never called or sent a telegram or cable, nothing. There was no correspondence from you whatsoever for nearly an entire year. It was very out of character for you, assuming you were still alive. God, he missed you. He missed you terribly.

Eventually you returned to working as a nurse and you and Louis rekindled your romance as you resumed writing to each other in 1918. When he received that first envelope with your name on it, he opened it so fast he nearly sliced his hand open with the letter opener. In your first letter to him after you all but dropped off the face of the earth, he was expecting an apology and an explanation for your disappearance at the very least. It was with an unsteady hand that he slowly unfolded the sheet of paper and he realized then that he was afraid. Afraid that this letter would change everything. He began to read through its contents and… There was an apology, but no explanation. Your letter was brief as you told him that you were sorry for causing him to worry. You told him that “it” was over, but you weren’t ready to talk about “it” just yet. He didn’t know what you were referring to and, when he wrote back to you and asked for clarification, all you could tell him in your next letter was that “it” had nothing to do with him and didn’t refer to your relationship, but “it” was “a very bad thing”.

Your response confused him even more, but it was a good enough answer for him. It had to be, because that was the most he was going to get out of you. If he kept pushing, he would’ve only succeeded in pushing you away. He didn’t want you to retreat and close yourself off from him, so he changed the subject and never brought it up again. Whatever it was, you obviously weren’t in the right mental or emotional headspace to talk about it with anyone. But you promised he’d not just be the first person, he’d be the only person you’d tell, just as soon as you were ready. It was about five years later when that day finally came.

18 October 1923

That inner critic is a bit loud today, huh? It wants to save you from making mistakes but it's creating anxiety, doubt, and misplaced shame and guilt. I think you need a dose of self-compassion. Be as sweet to yourself as you are to others. Being kind should radiate inwards as well as into the world beyond. As a nurse, it’s my duty to see to the well-being of my patients. And that includes you, my dearest. You just tell me whenever you’re feeling glum or thinking such terrible thoughts, and I’ll prescribe you as many sweet words of affirmation as you need until you’re feeling better. You may believe yourself to be a monster, but the voice in your head that’s telling you such things is lying to you. It often comes out at the worst of times, when a person is at their most vulnerable. It gets especially loud during the changing of the seasons. When summer turns to autumn to welcome in the winter months, I’ve noticed a shift in the moods of patients. They too experience what you’re experiencing, and I promise that I’ll do everything I can to help you drown out that deceptive voice in your head.

If you still don’t believe me, let me tell you a story. When I was a young girl, I knew bad men. These men were the sweetest of men within our community, always ready to lend a hand and always quick with a joke, often followed by a generous laugh. Their words were to our ears what frosted cake was to our tongues. They were every wish come true that we never knew we should wish for. But if any of us had looked closer, maybe we would’ve seen how these men pulled back their lips and smiled through gritted teeth. These men were monsters in human flesh that only revealed their true nature behind closed doors. They fooled everyone around them. Every neighbor, every party guest. One of them even fooled me into marriage.

I knew Frederick Lannington since childhood. He was a friend and business partner of my father, closer to his age than my own. He was an American, though he owned properties all over America and Europe. Father was the last family I had left and, after he died, I thought I’d never recover from his death. But Frederick... He took me through the worst of my grief. He was a calculated distraction. If only I realized then how well-calculated it was…

“I'd like you to see my house. I think it will please you.”

“There can't be a place like it for one hundred miles.”

“One thousand. It's all been assembled with great care. There's only one thing that I've wanted that I've been waiting for for a long time, because I'm a perfectionist.” He kissed your hand.

“Nothing of value is gained easily,” you teased, before your eyes were caught by a beautiful vase, a true work of art. “How beautiful.”

“Isn't it? It needs a woman of your taste to appreciate its magnificent beauty. Here, look. Server, 1782. There are only two others like it in the whole world.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “Note the perfection of the enameling.”

“How lovely.”

“I had to wait for it for seven years. The man who presented it in Paris was a fool who let himself be outbid by a Frenchman.”

“But you were stubborn.”

“Yes, I waited. Finally, I learned through a contact at the French Sûreté that the sister of the owner was seized in Germany. It would take all his money and more to get the old lady out. So I made my bid.”

“And he had to accept.”

“It was a bargain.” He kissed the side of your face, but you pulled away and walked around, your eyes taking in the beauty around you. He followed you and stood so close that he nearly pinned your body to the wall behind you, his chest nearly pressed up against you.

“I never saw such a collection.”

“All my life I've believed that if you were willing to take the time and energy, you could have anything you desired. All my life I have sought perfection.”

“It seems perfect.”

“Now it is perfect.” He leaned in and, though a part of you was apprehensive, you let him kiss you. But you didn’t let him do anything more than that. When he kissed you, there was no spark. There was nothing. You felt nothing.

He proposed to me when I was only seventeen years old. He got me alone while I was at a party with some friends. A friend and I went outside to enjoy the fresh air. We were animatedly engaged in chitchat, and I was too busy catching up with her to notice anyone else around me since I hadn’t seen her in a long time. Then Frederick approached me and interrupted our conversation.

“Dear, may I have a few minutes with you?”

“I'm sorry, but I'm busy.”

“Please. It's important.”

“Oh, very well.” You turned toward your friend with an apologetic smile and promised you’d find her later to resume your conversation. “I'll have to claim you a little later.” You walked away with Frederick, wondering what he could’ve possibly wanted that was so important that he had to drag you away from your friend. “Well?”

“I asked you out here to...to explain about last night.”

“It seemed quite clear to me.”

“Dear.” He held your arm, but you pried it off of you.

“I'm afraid I have a bit of a headache for this sort of thing.”

“There was no such thing intended.”

“Sorry, I misunderstood. Now shall we go inside?”

“Please. Darling.” He grabbed you by the arms to stop you from moving away. “Why do you think I wanted you to see my home last night? Why do you think I asked you to come out here now? From the moment I saw you again for the first time after so many summers apart, I knew I'd met the one woman that I wanted to be my wife. They call me a great man. It’s the loneliest animal in the world. I need you extremely badly, my dear.” He buried his face in your hair, kissing the back of your head.

You pulled away. “I'm afraid the answer is no.”

“Why? Because of my manners?”

“They have been perfect.”

“Well, isn't my house as fine as those you are used to?”

“Far better.”

“What is it then?”

“Oh, Frederick, I’m not fashionable enough for you. You need someone who’s elegant and refined.”

“I want you. What is it, really?”

“Well, it's just that I'm not attracted to you.”

“What's wrong with me?” He suddenly tightened his grip on you, nearly hurting you. His demeanor changed so quickly and so suddenly that it frightened you.

“Let me go.”

“Answer me.” He grabbed your face to forcibly turn your head and kissed you, as if his kiss alone could sway you to give him the answer he desired. You pulled away and he kissed your forehead, suddenly remorseful of his previous actions. He didn’t mean to be so harsh with you.

He apologized for behaving very badly and swore to me that it’d never happen again. He gave me time and space to think about his offer, and I mistook this as him respecting me, giving me a choice. I was left to fend for myself when it came to making decisions, good or bad. I was so young and naive with no one left in the world to guide me, and I foolishly believed him and forgave him. I came around to him and, in 1906, I married him. I was a bride at only seventeen years old and my bridegroom was fifty-two. Once the ink was dried on our marriage license, all the promises he made to me died on the wind.

People think he left me for some woman in Arizona. That we separated after I learned of his infidelity. But that's not the truth. Frederick regularly entertained and, when we returned from our honeymoon, at the begging of the neighbors who loved the previous ones, Frederick decided we’d host a fancy ball in my honor.

“The Lannington ball always was the show of the year. Top dog.”

“Grand site, the mansion all lit up. I love fireworks.”

“It does sound a little daunting.” Your voice was laced with the uncertainty and doubt of a new bride. You were still trying to find your place in the world and, after you married, you felt like an outsider in the world your husband belonged to. Everything was so different and new from what you knew and grew up with, and you were suddenly tossed into the middle of it without any warning or preparation.

“Oh, you’ll carry it off.”

“You wouldn’t have to do anything alarming. Just receive the guests and dance the night away.”

“Yes, my God. Whole county getting drunk and making fools of themselves.” Frederick nodded his head sarcastically as he picked up his glass of wine.

“Frederick always groans and he always enjoys it in the end.”

“Do I?”

“That’s a yes!”

“I’d like to help organize.”

Frederick shook his head. “Oh, no no no. You leave all that to the servants. They know the form.”

“Quite right. Never volunteer, my dear. You just have fun.”

As the day of the ball approached, Frederick became more and more stressed. And he took that stress out on me. He noticed my hands were stained. I still had small spots of charcoal or ink on them. He wasn’t pleased. Back in those days, women were discouraged from writing because it would ultimately create an identity and become a form of defiance. I realized that writing became one of the only forms of existence for women at a time when they had very few rights.

“What's that? Writing again! What about your duties?”

You, confused, looked down at your hands and wrung them together. You didn’t dare wipe them on your dress as you knew doing so would provoke your husband’s ire even more. “I... I finished them.”

“Oh, really? Did you tell the servants to make the beds? Sweep the floors? Weed the garden?”

“Yes.”

“Beat the rugs? Wax the table? Polish the silver?

“Yes, dear.”

“Wash and mend my clothes?”

“Hilda folded and put them away.”

Frederick turned and went up the grand staircase, but stopped halfway when one of the treads squeaked offensively loudly, the sound grating on his ears. He turned towards you. “Listen to that. You're supposed to keep the house in perfect order.” 
“But I didn't know about—”
“It's your job to know!” He went up the stairs and didn’t even glance back at you as he said, “I've taken care of you since your father died, and this is how you thank me? By frittering away your time, writing? This is atrocious.“

We were married for about five months when the evening of the party arrived. It took so many weeks of planning and, in between it all, Frederick either couldn’t or wouldn’t stop working. He was often called away, so it was hard setting a date that worked for the both of us. We wanted to celebrate our nuptials with our friends, some of whom couldn’t make it to the wedding. They were more Frederick’s friends than mine. I didn’t have very many friends to begin with, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let me invite any of them.

“I've asked a number of guests to dinner tonight at 7:30 to welcome you here.”

“Hilda told me you had. It's very nice of you, dear.”

“These people are very important friends and associates, and I won’t have you embarrassing me in front of them. I’ll be wearing my very best tonight. Diamond cufflinks and all that. I want you to do the same. Wear only what I had the maids set out for you in your bedroom.”

“But what if I've lost or gained weight since we saw each other last? Whatever new dress you bought for me, what if it won't fit?”

“Oh, don’t be stupid. It’ll fit. I've hired a seamstress for you. We can have all your dresses refitted to suit your new size if need be. I've asked her to stay late tonight, in case there may be any minor alterations necessary. I won’t have my wife caught dead wearing an ill-fitting dress.”

“You've thought of everything, haven't you, darling? If you'll excuse me—”

Ball guests arrived. They were milling about, the men in white tie, the women in long dresses and long silk gloves. The unmarried ladies were all dressed in virginal white, the bachelors in summer dinner jackets. Frederick was standing with me while I overlooked the party from the banister. The most important thing to remember was that I had to look impeccable at all times. My hair, my makeup…flawless all the time. Frederick got very upset if he saw people looking drab or unkempt or unmade up, so I had to look good at all times. Heels were a must. He didn’t want to catch me in Kedettes or, God forbid, sneakers. So heels had to be worn at all times.

From the corner of my eye, I watched him as he glanced me over, no doubt scrutinizing me, trying to find any microscopic flaw in my appearance so he could have an excuse to send me to my room. But there were none, so he said nothing. From my vantage point at the top of the stairs, I could see through to the drawing room. It was equally full as the foyer. People were moving in and out of the buffet where servants were serving champagne punch. Beyond the dining room, the terrace had a number of small tables laid out. There was the sound of loud chatter and music over the whole scene. The dancing was in full sway. An orchestra was playing a waltz. The older guests retired to the sidelines.

“It's a very nice party, isn't it?”

“Oh, yes, it's a wonderful party.”

“You’ve done it wonderfully well. I'm very proud. Shall we?” Frederick interlocked his arm with yours. With your arm laced around his elbow, he led you both down the stairs.

We nodded our greetings and shook hands with the guests that were standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for us. The hallway was thronged with the guests of the evening. Frederick left my side just for a moment to greet more guests but stayed close, standing only a few paces away from me. He was chatting to another man who was just leaving him. The front door was closed and the footman was still standing by. My face wore an expression of concealed anxiety as I looked furtively toward the front door, as if trying to will it to remain that way. Frederick came over to me and laced my arm with his. The great mansion blazed with light from every window. Frederick and I returned to the ballroom. The first dance was finishing. Gradually couples joined, including us. All the couples were talking as they were dancing, as they spun in the waltz, at the heart of the scene.

“Well, I think we might join the rest of the party now. I think all our guests are here.” As Frederick said these last words, he gave a glance toward you. Your face broke from its slight anxiety and you nodded acquiescence. He led you away into the main part of the hall and you were soon lost among the crowd.

The doorbell rang and the footman admitted a late-comer. His attitude was genial and breezy. He asked something of the footman, and the footman indicated the crowd in the main part of the hall. He got lost in the crowd, threading his way through the people, looking for me. I caught sight of him, and my face that once held concealed anxiety turned into restrained relief. My heart wanted my surprise guest to be there, but my brain wanted him gone as soon as possible.

It was Henri Freycinet, another friend of my family. I hadn’t seen him in years. We had been pen pals but, after he confessed that he loved me from the moment he met me, we were lovers for a time. Though our dalliance began in the autumn of 1905 and ended by the summer of 1906, shortly before Frederick proposed to me, we enjoyed our courtship immensely. As brief as it was. He wanted us to get married. We once spent three days and three nights sharing a hotel room, but our weekend in sin was just part of his plan to persuade me to accept.

“No. Henri. Henri, don’t. Henri. We have to talk about this reasonably.”

“I have loved you since the moment I clapped eyes on you. What could be more reasonable than to marry you?”

“We’d kill each other!”

“Nonsense!”

“Neither of us can keep our temper.”

“I can. Unless provoked.”

“We’re both stupidly stubborn. Especially you. We’d only quarrel.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“You can’t even propose without quarreling.”

“Mon cœur…” He kissed your forehead. “I swear I’ll be a saint. I’ll let you win every argument, take care of you. I’ll give you every luxury you’ve ever been denied. You won’t have to work. Unless you want to. Father wants me to learn how to fly, in England. Can’t you see us flying over London?” He took your face in his hands and kissed you.

But I refused his proposal. I said no because, when it came to it, he wasn't right. At least, not for me. We wanted different things.

“Henri, please don’t ask me again.”

He slowly lowered his hands from your face and turned away from you. He picked at the skin of his palms. He didn’t say anything at first, but he didn’t push you away when you tried to hold his hand and hug him from the side either.

“I’m desperately sorry. I do care for you with all of my heart. You’re my dearest friend. I just can’t go be a wife.”

“You say you won’t, but you will.”

“I won’t, I won’t!”

“One day, you’ll meet some man. A good man. And you will love him tremendously. And you will live and die for him.”

“Henri, please—”

“You will. I know you. If only I could be a fly on the wall and watch such a love unfold before my very eyes... While I hoped against hope that I could convince you to change your mind and consent to be my wife, your refusal won’t make me think any less of you or stop me from loving you. There are many different forms of love, after all, none of them any less meaningful or valuable than the romantic variety. Thank you, my dearest friend, for loving me and making so many beautiful memories with me. I’ll always treasure the time we spent together and everything we shared. That’s what you’ll be to me from now on. Mon trésor. I hope we meet again.”

I wanted to spare him from having to read a Dear John letter, so we called it quits and parted as friends. Even after we amicably ended our calf love, he kept writing to me from England. I knew he was still in love with me, but I cherished him as a friend and confidant even more than I did when he was my lover. Last I heard, he had just recently acquired his pilot’s license and was now Captain Freycinet.

“Bonjour, mon trésor. Remember me?” He tried to kiss your hand, but you wouldn’t let him. You felt your husband’s eyes on the back of your head, so he was probably standing just a few paces behind you. You only outstretched your hand to allow Henri a firm and impersonal handshake in greeting. You were quick to pull away after your hands met for just a moment, as if his touch burned you.

“Why did you come here?”

“This week, mademoiselle, we offer one red rose with each year's subscription...to the aviation magazine.”

“Oh, no. Please, you've got to go.”

The maids were whispering and gossiping amongst each other as they went about the room serving the guests. They tried to keep their voices low and cover their mouths with their hands, but Frederick could still hear what they were saying as they stood giggling by a table and filled their serving trays with finger foods and drinks. It looked to them like you and the man were flirting.

“The Mistress’s friend is a very attractive man, isn't he?”

“I heard from Jimmy that he’s an old family friend of hers. If you ask me, I think he’s an old beau who’s come back to rekindle an old flame. If she doesn’t take him, I will!”

The maids quickly went back to their duties but smiled as they discreetly watched the dancing in the ballroom.

Frederick purposely ignored their reference to your uninvited and unwelcome guest, but hearing the word “mistress,” even used in proper context, made his eye twitch and his fists clench like a nervous tick. He turned away to greet a guest. “Madame Estorik - I'm so glad to see you. The party seems to be going off very well, doesn't it? I must say my wife has managed wonderfully.”

By the way Frederick gave a half glance back again, I could see that he was doing everything in his power to maintain his composure. He was so tense that I worried he’d squeeze the wine glass he was holding until it shattered to pieces in his hand. His face was expressionless, the perfect mask of impassivity. But the look in his eyes only added to my uneasiness about him, as if he was warning me through his eyes alone not to test his patience. His attention had been distracted for a moment by two other guests, but not for long. He turned in our direction, his attention now fully on Henri as he followed our meeting.

There was a look of ungovernabie fury on Frederick’s face. He turned and moved toward the French doors. He started shoving his way through the dancers, blind to their presence, jostling one young couple. Hands were applauding wildly, the sound of the palms meeting was magnified, almost immediately augmented by the sound of many other hands clapping. The effect was a nightmare rather than realistic, the crowded dance floor and the guests applauding the end of a number. The party was clearly approaching its climax. The young people on the floor continued to clap, their applause rapidly being transformed into a demand for more music. The bandleader shook his head, half bemused, half anxious. Then, shrugging helplessly, he grinned, turned to his band and, as if suddenly caught up in the young people’s wild enthusiasm, led them into an impossibly fast Charleston. Some of the older guests seated at the edge of the room viewed the proceedings with increasing bewildermant and a little apprehension. That rug, that stupid old filthy rug, had seen more dancing shoes than a ballroom. It was where we all twirled, everyone with everyone, the music escaping from every open window and door.

“Well, my dear... I see you have a guest even more special than our other special guests. Come in, sir, come in. We mustn’t lurk in doorways. It’s rude.” Frederick’s voice and demeanor was cordial as he and Henri shook hands. “Any friend of hers is welcome.”

“Thank you. It was nice of her to invite me. I must apologize for arriving late.”

Frederick knew for a fact that you hadn’t, because he put himself in charge of making the guest list and sending the invitations out. He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “We both invite you.”

“Please leave. Please leave.” Your quiet pleas went either unheard or ignored.

Frederick put his arm around you, squeezing your shoulder. To anyone else, it would appear as a loving gesture. To you, it was a warning not to do anything stupid. “Don't be so inhospitable, my dear. As host and hostess, we must see that all our guests are fed…and amused.” He shook you in a way that seemed playful, then turned his attention back to the much younger man. “We’re pleased you are here. Did she tell you that we're flying East tonight?”

“That's why I'm here.”

“Indeed. We're to have the pleasure of your company?”

“No. I don't know how to say this, and I hope you understand, but you're not going to have the pleasure of your niece’s company either.”

Frederick paused, his eyes glancing off to the side questioningly. “We'll explore that remark over a drink. Come along. Won't you sit down?” He took your close friend and former lover by the elbow and walked with him over to the tables where there was food and drinks. “The wine is to the left. Highball? Or won't that mix with what you've had?”

Henri took a seat and made himself comfortable on one of the couches. “That'll be fine, thanks.”

“And where did you two meet? At the drugstore tonight?”

“Oh, no. We've been seeing each other every night.”

A lie. A blatant lie told to make himself look better in front of your husband, whom he mistook as your uncle. Henri only ever saw Frederick from afar or in passing, and he was always in your father’s company. The men were never properly introduced. They never actually met. It was an easy assumption to make. But you shuddered as you dreaded how such an assumption would cost him dearly. If you could’ve, you would’ve put your head in your hands in that moment. You wanted the floor to open up underneath you and swallow you whole.

“Seeing each other every night? Lovely. So you must be the young man.”

“Mr. Lannington, there's no sense beating around the bush. I'm in love with your niece.”

“That's quite apparent. Well, that's quite...romantic, Mister...” Frederick purposely trailed off, and Henri was foolish enough to take the bait and give him his full name, his real name.

“Captain. Captain Henri Freycinet.”

“A Captain? Uh...not a very substantial career, as yet?”

“Well, I think we can manage to get along without any help from you, if that's what you mean.”

“It is what I mean.” You tried to speak, but Frederick coldly interrupted your attempt at interrupting him. “Be quiet. Do you mind being not quite so demonstrative in my presence?“

“Mr. Lannington, I wanna marry your niece.”

“I wish you'd stop calling her my niece. She happens to be my wife.”

Henri instantly went white. “She's your wife?”

“Yes, Captain. Oh, I concede the conspicuous difference in our ages. She married me for my money. I married her for her youth. We both got what we wanted, after a fashion.”

Henri got up and stepped around you. Still holding his glass of highball in his hand, he finished the drink like a shot and leaned over slightly to put his empty glass on a table, which worried you.

“Where are you going?”

“I think I'll go out and get some fresh air.”

“Not without me.”

After he left, Frederick questioned you, his voice cold and calculated. Alone in the parlor with no witnesses, there wasn’t a need to put on airs anymore. The facade instantly dropped. “Does he bother you very much?”

“No, darling. He’s trying to drown his sorrows.”

“I don’t blame anyone for being in love with you, darling. I just hope that nothing will happen to give him any false impression.”

“Let me talk to him. I can convince him to leave and never come back. Just give me a chance. Please.” Your expression conveyed your desperation to get rid of your former lover and best friend before he got himself into more trouble, as well as veiled anxiety to get away from Frederick in that moment.

He stared at you for a minute, as if debating whether or not he could trust you. With a wave of his hand, he let you go. You didn’t waste a single second as you took advantage of the opportunity that he was giving you to clean up your mess yourself. You left in search of Henri. You knew that if you didn’t fix it in time, Frederick would.

Henri walked around the terrace, behaving quite casually and puffing away at his cigarette as though he had come out to enjoy the night air. Behind him was a faint impression of a glass door, faintly reflecting the moonlit garden. Suddenly a flood of light appeared from one of the side doors. As he straightened up and turned around, he approached the few steps leading to the side door, when you appeared and opened it, causing him to collide into you. Without a word you took him forcefully by the arm and dragged him inside, across to a corridor that led to the wine cellar, allowing him to pass through as you looked anxiously about you the entire time. You pointed to the back door at the end of the passage. He could leave quietly and discreetly through there without any of the other guests seeing him. You were struggling to keep it together, a disturbed and almost impatient figure as your hair raised from the back of your neck and chills raced down your spine. The more he dawdled and stubbornly refused to listen to you, the more time you were wasting. Soon it would run out, and you dreaded having to witness what would happen when it did.

“The fireworks are ready, sir. Timed perfectly to discharge directly after all the party guests are escorted outside.”

“Whatever you have planned is not good enough, Jimmy. Make them bigger, longer, brighter! Our guests must be captivated.” Frederick then gathered all the guests together within half an hour. The indistinct overlapping chatter quieted down as he grabbed their attention, everyone’s eyes turned towards him. “Everyone, outside. I have a surprise for you all! Just over there. The real celebrations will begin shortly.”

The fireworks were chaos and unpredictability, their explosive gifts finding their own time and space to own. As they did, the party guests were captivated spectators watching their blazing trails arc above. Frederick turned and looked across in the direction the two of you went. The party guests were too captivated by the popping of the bright colors lighting up the night sky to notice that their genial host slipped away. Frederick opened the side door leading to the wine cellar. As his silhouette darkened the doorway, your face held apprehension as you looked up. Words couldn’t even begin to express how disappointed he was in your failure to do something he thought was the most simplest of tasks. His short sigh filled you with dread. You knew the confrontation that he held over your head like a looming threat was now inevitable. A consequence of your actions. Or inaction, rather, depending on the point of view. From his point of view, it looked as though you and Henri were laughing. You insisted that your attitudes were casual, as though you were just enjoying some inconsequential joke. But while your physical attitudes were broad and gay, your voices were low and intent, which made Frederick all the more suspicious.

Some of the pages of your letter were blank, and Louis knew that you used invisible ink. A secret communication. He flicked open his lighter and used the flame to warm the blank pages, and hidden writing started to appear. It was a confession from you, meant for his eyes only. You loved Louis so very much. His happiness was the only thing you wanted in the whole world…but you did a bad thing to make certain of it. A very bad thing that you kept locked away in your heart for nearly five years.

Henri’s flirting with me, you know, a little buzzed. Then Frederick comes down to the wine cellar…

“I'm sorry to intrude on this…tender scene, but I saw you come this way.”

“Frederick, not here. We’ll talk alone.”

“You’re afraid to speak in front of him?”

“No. I couldn’t help what happened. He’s been drinking. Can't you see he's had too much to drink?” You protested, wanting this nightmarish scene to end.

“Yes, I can see it. He carried you down here?” His voice was laced with sarcasm and skepticism. It was a rhetorical question, and you knew that. He then turned his focus onto Henri. “Forgive me. My analytical mind again. You said something moments ago in the parlor that got me thinking. You’re still in love with my wife, you’ve made that point perfectly clear. So let me ask you one simple question: Is she in love with you?”

“Well, hasn't she told you?”

“As a matter of fact, no. She has not. She never even mentioned you.”

“Frederick, please!”

“You love him.”

“No. Absolutely— No. Not in the way you think. You're being foolish, Frederick. I came here because he threatened to make a scene unless I'd see him alone.” You turned toward Henri, one last desperate plea as you implored him to leave. “Please go!”

“For what it's worth, as an apology, she’s telling the truth. It’s funny. You say she didn’t mention me to you? She didn’t mention you to me. Just before I shipped out, I thought she’d wait for me. I realized I was mistaken when she told me she’d prefer it if we parted as friends before I left. She wanted to spare me the heartache of a Dear John letter. When I got leave I came back here, hoping against hope that I could win her back. But no. It seems I’m once again mistaken. It’s too late. I only had her for a short time. But in that time, I knew her better than you, made love to her better than you… And, if I had married her, I would’ve been a much better husband to her than you.” He glanced at you from over his shoulder and shrugged. “Sorry, darling.”

“Please go!”

“It’s time you get back in line, Captain.”

“If that’s how you feel. I believe I’m done here. Good day.” He turned to leave, but Frederick blocked the path to the door, physically stopping him from leaving.

“We’re done when I say we’re done.”

You had your chance to get him out, but you took too long. Now Frederick had to take matters into his own hands, and he had a point to make. Captain Henri Freycinet, so haughty and naive, became involuntarily involved in the domestic dispute and suddenly found himself in the thick of it, all because your husband was bitter, jealous, and ironic. Frederick pressed his fingers so hard onto Henri’s chest that the Frenchman left a bruise forming. “Appealing, isn't she?”

…and he grabs this poor man and just beats the shit out of him.

You watched in horror as Frederick beat Henri with a fireplace poker. A fireplace poker that he grabbed from the parlor before going outside. He knew you’d go to the wine cellar. He timed the fireworks so that nobody could hear the sounds of a struggle, any thwacks, thumps, and screams drowned out by the loud gasps of awe and thunderous applause from the party guests gathered outside. No witnesses. It wasn’t just a crime of passion. It was premeditated. First he hit him in the stomach, then the face, nearly stabbing him in the right eye and gauging it out with the sharp, pointed end of the iron rod. Henri fought back. But he was a pilot, so hand-to-hand combat wasn’t his forte. Regardless, he didn’t want to hurt your husband. He knew that if he did, even in self-defense, he’d be punished for harming him under a corrupt system that listened to money over justice. He knew he was screwed either way.

Using his strength, Frederick held him immobile on his knees. “You’re gonna learn, Captain.” He brutally punched him in the face, knocking him to his stomach on the floor. He kicked him in the face, then picked him up by the back of his jacket and slammed his face into a wall. “And if you ever even think of sassing me again���” Frederick threw him onto a wooden table. The table splintered and collapsed from the weight of Henri’s body and the force of the impact. He was bleeding heavily and barely conscious. Your husband stopped and noticed blood that splattered on his suit, staining the fabric. Blood that wasn’t his. His voice was laced with annoyance as he tsked, “Ah. Look what you did to my suit!”

You tried to stop him and act as a shield, but getting between the two men only resulted in your earring getting torn from your ear in the ensuing struggle. You’re still not sure which of them did it, but you were sobbing as you held your earring in your hand and pressed a handkerchief to your ear to stem the bleeding. Frederick didn’t stop until Henri struck his head on the concrete floor and was knocked unconscious. He nudged him with the fireplace poker, but the poor Captain didn’t move a muscle. Frederick checked his pulse and there was still a steady beat under his fingers. With Henri out cold, Fredrick didn’t see a point in continuing his lesson. Both the party and his fun was just about over. Captain Freycinet was as revolting as Frederick believed he should’ve been. He wanted the outside to repulse you so you’d never want to set eyes on him again. He was grotesque. Already his eyes were swollen over and bloody spit drooled from his slack jaws.

Frederick scolded both Henri and himself. “Oh, come on, that's a custom made Sartori rug! You idiot! I should’ve put a tarp down first.” With a wrinkled nose Frederick took a step backwards. He was tempted to whisper something in Henri’s ear. The Frenchman was broken and lying in a heap on the floor. He won, and he wanted to gloat. But what was the point. Henri would be lucky to remember his own name. Taking great care not to step in it and stain the bottom of his expensive shoes, Frederick walked over the bloody mess that had once been a man but was reduced to little more than an unrecognizable pile of mush. He dialed for an ambulance himself. Maiming a burglar who attempted to intrude upon his home through his wine cellar wouldn’t bring down nearly the same heat as killing one. And this way his disfigured face would be a living reminder to you of what happened to those who dared to cross Frederick Lannington and emasculate him by making public declarations of love to his wife in his house. He wouldn’t tolerate such audacity. With smooth hand movements, he wiped Henri’s blood from the fireplace poker with his cloth handkerchief.

“He kissed you.”

“I couldn't stop him. I tried.”

Then he tells me to go back to the party and see to our guests. He was so nonchalant about what had just transpired mere minutes ago. As if nothing had happened at all.

“We’ll talk about it later. Your guests are upstairs. Please join them. The ambulance is on its way. I’ll stay with him until they arrive, in case he wakes up.”

You heard what your husband said, but you couldn’t will your body to move. You were frozen, petrified. His patience wearing thin, Frederick forcibly grabbed you by the arms, squeezing so hard he left bruises as he shook you to snap you out of your shock. You were thankful the dress he gifted you and made you wear had long, opaque sleeves. Your movements were jerky. You were unable to move with any grace. You didn’t want to leave Henri alone with your husband, but you knew that staying behind would only anger Frederick and make an already very bad situation even worse.

When the paramedics arrived, everyone gathered around and gawked, barely giving them room to breathe. Everyone was told to back up and keep the area clear as Frederick, who conveniently divested himself of his bloodied suit jacket and stashed away the fireplace poker and bloody handkerchief so they’d remain unseen, hurriedly led the medics to where the injured man, unrecognizable in his current state, still laid unconscious, his voice laced with worry. He was a well-practiced actor and liar. He never faltered or slipped up once while questioned by the police and paramedics about what happened. His account was plausible and there were no contradictions or inconsistencies that they could detect, so they had no reason to suspect that he, a man of his wealth and social standing, would ever lie. He told the police that he didn’t want to press charges, believing the man, whoever he was, had suffered enough and wouldn’t dare to come back to try again at a later time.

His face was damaged almost beyond the point at which recovery was possible. There was a cut above his eyebrow, and the scarlet blood flowed into his eyes. Or rather, eye. Singular. By the time help arrived, the left eye was still swollen, but the right eye looked like it was on the verge of bursting out of the socket. His body didn’t appear to be too bad, until the paramedics cut away his clothes and the blooming purple patches told of internal ruptures, likely organ damage. They had looked at him with encouraging faces but were utterly ashen when he couldn't see them, giving involuntary shakes of their heads. Although he would live to see another day, it was uncertain if he’d die in hospital or not. even if he made it, those scars would be forever. And all the while there was you crying in the background like your heart had snapped in two. The hall was soon deserted after that, save for the last guest who moved, a bit unsteadily, out of the door. You and Frederick turned away from the last guest. There were signs of the end of the party. Footmen and maids were beginning to clear up.

You were worried about Frederick’s attitude.“Frederick, I’m really sick at heart over what happened.”

He looked at you and a new expression was on his face. The jealousy and pain were gone. In their stead was a curious urbanity. He would seem whimsical were it not for the underlying tension of his manner and the unexpectedness of his new attitude. “My dear…” He took your hands. “I shall never forgive myself for behaving like a stupid schoolboy.”

“Then you believe me.”

“Certainly, my dear. The incident isn’t even worth mentioning again.”

You started toward the stairs. Your voice was quiet as you told him, “Thank you, Frederick. Are you coming up?“

After that, we didn’t host or attend anymore parties. Frederick was a bad, bad man. Although he didn’t say it outright, I had my suspicions he wanted me out of the house so he could bring in other women. He married me because I was the only kin Father had left, so he left me everything in his will. He wanted control over my inheritance, all my money and my assets. Once he had that, he wanted to be free of the encumbrance of a wife. He’d send me away as soon as an opportune moment presented itself. Then Russia declared war on Germany. It was just what he needed. It was perfect. In 1914, in the face of opposition from the restrictive social code for affluent young women, he enrolled me in a training college under my maiden name so he could get me onto a course to start my training as an auxiliary nurse. He warned me it may be something of a rough awakening and asked me if I was ready for that. I’d have to learn how to make my own bed or scrub a floor, for example. Or what about cooking? He asked our cook if she could give me one or two basic tips, such as how to boil an egg or how to make tea. When I started my course, he didn’t want me to be a joke and thought it might be useful for me to know a little more than nothing.

After two months I finished my course and set off with a team of women to assist in nursing the wounded men from the war. I saw all sorts of gruesome and gnarly illnesses, injuries, infections, and loss of life and limb. It wasn’t what I thought it would be. It was more savage and more cruel than I could've imagined. But I felt useful for the first time in my life, and that must’ve been a good thing. I wouldn't go back to my life before the war. I could never go back to that again. As I learned about medicine and patient care, I learned to finally let the fake smile go. I learned to let all of my masks go, the ones I wore for others and the ones I wore for myself. Fake smiles simply said I was scared or uncomfortable. A real smile or neutral lips felt almost foreign to me and I realized how long it had been since I last sported a genuine one. I finally let my face do what it did naturally. I smiled with my eyes even when my lips were still.

Masking fear can be good or bad. It's all situational, right? If you defend yourself or others, it's good. If you cut yourself off from yourself or others, deny your vulnerable self the chance to breathe and cry, then it's bad. Masking fear was a survival essential when I was married. So much so that I didn’t feel fear as others did. I processed it differently. I thought that if I ignored the anxious thoughts as if they were some distant radio and got on with doing things that were right for me, in time they’d lessen and disappear. Now when I’m anxious, I vent with a person who loves me, one who has real wisdom and life experience to offer, one who’s the calm and not the storm. I can assure you with full confidence, my love, that you’re a far cry from those monsters and storms. You don’t even come close. My dear, ever since I became a nurse, I’ve taken great care to only see the goodness of those around me. And you, though imperfect as I am, as all living things are, have more goodness in your smallest finger than most people have in their whole body. Nothing you could tell me would ever stop me from loving you, my dearest. I love you. I’ll say it as many times as you need me to. I’ll keep saying it until you believe me, and then some.

Your nightgown transformed into your evening gown from that dreadful night. You looked down in bewilderment as you registered the transformation of your dress. The ballroom was empty and silent. You turned wildly to your right and, as you heard the music and the first sounds of gaiety and laughter, your face broke into a smile. Your smile was the silencing of the clocks, it was both the cage and the ever open door. You looked down at your hands, holding a cream-colored handkerchief. You started to turn your head very slowly, as if you were afraid that whatever was happening around you might suddenly vanish. You heard the door swing open more loudly than usual. He made his entrance late. You didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge him. He was late and you didn’t play nice when guests didn’t show up on time. Then he spoke. You knew it was him but his voice was all wrong, like he was speaking while being choked. You turned. The figure of Henri melted away and transformed into Louis. And then he vanished into thin air before your very eyes. Where did he go? You had to find him. It was a game. The game of hide and seek.

You remembered playing hide and seek when you were a child, but you were never any good at it. Oh, the delicious thrill of hiding while the others came looking for you, the delicious terror of being discovered, but what panic when, after a long search, the others abandoned you! Those early experiences taught you that you mustn't be too good at the game. You mustn't hide too well. The player must never be bigger than the game itself. You’d always make enough noise so your friends would be sure to find you. But that only made you lose the game. You didn’t have anyone to play those games with anymore, but now and then you made enough noise just in case someone was still looking and hadn’t found you yet. When you went looking for Louis, you were playing a desperate game of hide and seek, fearful of what you might find, most afraid that you would find nothing. Love had a way of cheating itself consciously, like a child who played solitary hide and seek. It was pleased with assurances that it all the while disbelieved. Was life always like that? A game of hide and seek in which you always found the person you were longing for but only occasionally found the person you wanted to be? You wondered. Should Louis hide in your heart, it would not be difficult to find him. But should you hide behind your own shell, then it would be useless for anyone to seek you out.

The chandeliers were just beginning to go dim and you caught a glimpse of something from the corner of your eye. Slowly, very slowly, you turned to look toward the French doors. Louis stood in the open doorway, smiling as before, evidently waiting for you. True love was not a hide and seek game. In true love, both lovers sought each other. The lights were noticeably dimmer. You smiled and ran to him. Coming to a position just in front of him, you made a deep curtsey. He bowed to you and held out his hand. The scene around you remained static until the moment your hand touched Louis’. At that, the music burst forth again, the dance resumed and the ballroom echoed with laughter and gaiety. Louis swept you along into the waltz. You and the man you truly loved whirled around among the other dancers. The music swelled up. As Louis and you continued to waltz, oblivious of everything except each other, the other couples began to melt away, until finally, Louis and you were dancing on your own, still unaware that anything was amiss. Until you noticed that the hand with which he held yours was bloody.

“Louis, you’re bleeding—”

Your words were cut short when you looked up. Your expression froze into one of sudden terror. In one shattered moment your heart and breathing stopped, just stopped. Your mouth opened, but no sound came from it at first. A silent scream. He was a mess, drenched in his own blood. His nose was smashed and eyes almost shut with swelling. His arms were wrapped around his guts like he was holding them in. He was beat so bad that he could’ve been. The music slowly began to fade. Noticing this, Louis faltered and, as he turned to look at you, the music died away completely. He stopped and reacted first with uneasy bewilderment and then with fright. He disengaged himself from you and started to back away towards the French window, his eyes riveted on something behind you. You turned to follow his gaze. The dancers melted away to the very edges of the room in order to clear a path for Frederick, who stood by the open doors of the ballroom and stared at the both of you in a smoldering rage.

Without a word he began to advance on you. You turned to look at Louis, but his eyes were now riveted on your husband as he backed away even further, staggering out into the night. Suddenly, with a cry of fear, he turned, burst open the French window and fell out to his death. You stared into the darkness of the night for a moment and took a few steps forward, as if to chase the vanished apparition, then stopped. His body was gone, leaving behind only bloodstains on the concrete pavement. There was plenty of room for another body. You looked down and your cream-colored handkerchief was wrapped around a concealed knife. A pristine blade, it glinted in the moonlight, waiting to be stained and tarnished with the blood of a man. You clutched at the handle for more purchase as you turned to face your husband. As he advanced on you, he ran into your knife. The knife only did what it was told to do, so you were sure to give it good instructions. You stepped aside and Frederick staggered forwards, taking the knife with him as he fell out of the window onto the exact same spot Louis had been. His body didn’t disappear. As if he was meant to be there when Louis wasn’t. His once brown eyes became hazy as they clouded over with a milky white, translucent film. Your experience as a nurse taught you that this happened after death due to lack of oxygen and circulating blood to the eyes. There was a saying, “Those who die with their eyes wide open deserve it.”

You gasped as you jolted awake, your body covered in a thin layer of cold sweat. There was silence. You were lost, frightened. The light from the hallway flickered and you looked down. Your evening gown turned back into your nightgown. Another nightmare. You could barely move when Frederick was so close to you in your shared bed. Every muscle seized up. Your brain was struggling to recover, to repair the damage of what you witnessed. On each of your arms there were great purple welts that would only deepen over the coming week. Against your ghostly skin they were grotesque, but you knew you were lucky not to have broken bones. Though Frederick never once laid a violent hand against you, the shadows of the beating he inflicted upon Henri were on your skin and heart. The knowledge that your husband could do such a thing just broke something inside of you, something that would remain long after Henri’s skin and bones were healed. It was a sadness in your eyes, a heaviness, an unyielding sorrow that slowed your speech and robbed you of your once easy smile.

Once the color of the night sky with its threads of blue and gold, that Sartori rug told a tale of fear and jealousy once it was stained with splotches of red that, over time, became brown. Frederick could’ve easily replaced it, brought in another. The cost of doing so would’ve been like sparing pennies from his pocket. He could’ve hauled it to the best dry cleaners in the country and have it washed as best as they could. But instead he kept it as it was, wanting those dried bloodstains to serve as a grim reminder to you of the consequences for impertinence.

When you first saw Henri in hospital, you almost didn’t recognize him. His clothes were an utter mess. He was more purple than any human should’ve been. His face still bore congealed blood. He was missing his right eye, which was covered by bandages. His left eye was still swollen. He couldn’t be seeing a thing out of it and he wouldn’t for a while yet. Until his left eye healed, he was blind and had to have nurses keep him steady and guide him. His gait was all wrong. He walked like a scarecrow more than a man. As he neared, your heart was caught in your throat. You were already running. You couldn’t face him just then. Even if what happened wasn’t your fault and you were just as much a victim of Frederick as he was, you couldn’t stop the immense guilt that overwhelmed you and held you in a chokehold. Maybe it made you a coward, maybe it made you selfish, but you couldn’t face him while he was like that.

Due to the extent of his injuries, Captain Freycinet wasn’t expected to make it. But he was a fighter and, miracle of miracles, his emergency surgeries were successes and he pulled through. When questioned by hospital staff about the incident, he could never recall how long the beating had gone on for, only the final kick to his ribs and the sound of the iron bar clattering on the concrete as his assailant dropped it. He laid in the hospital bed, his eye fixed on the window until you walked in. He turned his head to face you. He looked better than when you first saw him. Still bad, but better. He knew already what face you would make, and you did. Your eyes got that wide look, your bottom lip trembled and you hurried to sit by his bedside. Your eyes walked from one injury to another, taking in the gore that was your friend. He could see the conflict already, your wanting to be strong for him and the raw need to weep welling up. He tried to say your name, his cracked lips failing at the first syllable due to dehydration, but he didn’t need to. So instead he croaked,

“It's all right. You can cry.”

It was all the permission you needed. With your head down on the white woolen blanket, minutes passed until you could speak his name. You fetched him a cup of water and he tried to make light of the situation by telling you that he had far worse while in active service and, despite Frederick’s best efforts, he was healing rather well and his appearance wasn’t ravaged. Even with the eyepatch, he was still devilishly handsome. Crisis averted. With his left eye intact, he’d still be able to look at himself in the mirror and admire just how handsome he was. He made bad jokes and puns about how, since there were women who were sexually attracted to men with scars, maybe there were women out there who would be sexually attracted to him now that he sported an eyepatch. Glass eyes didn’t appeal to him, but the eyepatch, now that could be fashionable. He’d also still be able keep an eye on you. Get it? Keep an eye on you? Eye? Singular? The jokes fell flat, but you still appreciated the effort. You smiled wanly at each other.

Henri knew it was easier said than done, but he told you to stop feeling guilty over what happened. He had a lot of time to think about it while laid up in hospital and, looking back on the night of the party in retrospect, he realized that you did everything in your power to protect him. He didn’t blame you one bit for what Frederick did to him. It would take time, but he believed he’d be able to recover and walk away from this, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. A scar may still be there, but he believed that it would gradually hurt less and less until it didn’t hurt at all anymore. He was hopeful and optimistic that, with the right support, he’d heal. He wanted the same healing for you.

After Henri lost his eye, he gave up on ever falling in love again. All jokes aside, in all honesty, what woman would want a man who wore an eyepatch due to his missing eye? But he was okay with it because he already was fortunate enough to experience romantic love once with you. You and he would always have those winter and spring months, those nights in the hotel room. No woman on earth could ever take your place in his heart. And nothing and nobody had the power to take those memories away from either of you. Even after you ended things, he was so grateful to you for continuing to love him platonically.

He reminded you of your time spent together in the hotel room all those years ago, what he said to you about love and what he saw in your future. He still believed his words to be true and made you promise him that you’d at least try to find love, real love, with another man. You had your entire life ahead of you and still had time to move on. When the opportunity finally presented itself, he wanted you to take that chance to leave Frederick and find a man who would treat you as you deserved to be treated. Maybe it wouldn’t come tomorrow, and maybe not next week, but he hoped it would come for you soon. Though you weren’t right for each other, he still believed there was someone out there that would be right for you. Frederick’s beating of him hadn’t changed that. If anything, it only reinforced his beliefs. And even if he was wrong and you never found romantic love, even if the both of you lived out the rest of your lives single and unattached, it didn’t mean either of you would be alone. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. Love presented itself in many different forms. It could be found in friends, found family, a pet…but the most important love of all was the love you held for yourself.

Frederick tried to rip that love out of you in his endeavors to break you down and mold you into the wife and woman he wanted you to be, but he failed. You thought you lost your ability to love yourself, but you found it in 1914 and brought it out when you met Louis. It was greatly damaged and weakened, but it wasn’t dead. It was still there, nestled deep inside of you somewhere. It went into hiding again in 1917 when you were forced to quit your job, but it was still there, just waiting to be let out again. You could feel it. It was tucked away somewhere safe, somewhere Frederick could never reach it. He could very well try again, but he couldn’t kill it. And that which couldn’t be killed could only be made stronger.

One of the last things Henri said to you before you returned to the mansion you considered your gilded cage really resonated with you. His words inspired you, gave you strength:

“Make dread dead, not buried but in an open casket, for we need to be realistic in order to both grieve and make good choices about our next step. Dread is a fear flag, it’ll give you a chance to reflect upon the opportunity arriving and find real reasons to be at peace with whatever change comes to you.”

I’d always hoped Frederick would give me a divorce, that he’d never miss me as long as I left him with his money. For a time, he led me to believe that he was open to the idea. Only to pull the rug out from under me and tell me he changed his mind instead. He wouldn’t give me a divorce. Not ever.

While you were in the middle of helping a patient, one of your fellow nurses fetched you to tell you that you had a phone call. She said that it sounded important, so it was best not to keep him waiting. She took over for you and stepped in to help the patient you were with while you picked up the phone. Although he obviously couldn’t say who he really was, you knew it was your husband calling as soon as the other nurse said “him.” It couldn’t have been anyone else. His call was unexpected. He never once called or wrote you before. You enjoyed nearly three years of no correspondence from him, so why did he call you now? What did he want?

“Hello, Frederick. You're calling very early. What time is it in California? Heh. Frederick, you shouldn't have nightmares. Wrong? Of course not. Oh, but that isn't true. There is something, not wrong, but... Well, I had intended to write to you about it. I hardly know how to tell you. Something quite overwhelming has happened—”

Frederick interrupted you, not caring to listen to whatever you had to say. What he had to say was much more important. He wanted you to give notice and come back to him. When you dared to ask him why, the reason he gave was that he tried living on his own but didn’t like it, so he wanted you to resume your duties as his wife and mistress of the mansion at once.

“And what about my work? What you’re asking is impossible, Frederick.”

“What work? Bringing hot drinks to a lot of randy officers? I’ve already notified the hospital and am sending a driver to pick you up and take you to the airport. You will come home at once.”

The line clicked.

“Lannington. Lannington? Lannington?”

He had hung up without letting you get another word in. Of course he did. He always had to have the last word.

Having no choice, you made plans to return to your husband’s mansion. You wrote as soon as possible, informing the staff that, since you were coming home to take up your duties again, neither a nurse nor a secretary would be necessary. As Frederick’s wife and mistress of the house, as well as a fully trained auxiliary nurse, It would seem redundant to keep on other women and pay them to do your job. You wrote that they were dismissed, effective immediately. You expected their bags to be packed and for them to be gone by the time you arrived. You knew there were others before them, just in-and-outers, but these women lasted a whole month. They must’ve been Frederick’s favorites. If your husband wanted you to act as a wife, then so be it. You’d comply with his wishes. And you wouldn’t care how frustrated and angry it made him.

“Hello, William… Yes, William, it’s me.”

Your butler had been staring at you in silent awe, as if he couldn’t believe it was you. You were a completely different woman from the one he knew. You changed. For the better, it seemed.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Lannington.”

“Thank you.”

“Your husband is waiting upstairs in his room.”

“Yes. Well then, we’d better not stand here gabbing. When he waits, he gets mad, and when he gets mad, that means rush the smelling salts. He has ears like a cat, and he heard that bell as sure as preaching. I’d better hurry right in.” You walked into the bedroom. Your husband was sitting in an armchair by the window, waiting for you like William said he was. You walked over to give him a kiss on his cheek. “Well, Frederick. Hello. Frederick, you're looking wonderfully well. Hilda told me you'd been ill, but—”

“Hilda knows nothing about me. Step over there where I can see you. Turn around. Walk up and down. It's worse than I was led to suppose. Much worse.”

“If you'd like me to go...”

“Don't go. I have things to say to you. Sit down. I’m aware that you dismissed the last nurse and secretary without any input from me. They both left this morning before you arrived, as you ordered.”

“Well, darling, your past nurses all told me that you’re fit as a fiddle. You have a heart. You deny it, but you have one. But at your age, who wouldn’t have? It’s nothing serious. Ought to last you for years if you don’t get excited. It sounded to me that a nurse hadn’t ever been necessary, and that you mostly used them to fetch and carry. And now that I’ve come home to take up my duties as a wife again, I didn’t see the point in keeping either a nurse or a secretary since I’m more than capable of fulfilling both roles. You personally saw to that, darling.”

Frederick said nothing, but you could tell he was seething. You were right, of course. He practically forced you into marriage. He forced you to attend countless etiquette lessons. He forced you to attend nursing school. Through his mandatory teachings, he equipped you with a unique set of skills. Then he forced you to quit your job and come back home. Why wouldn’t you fire his nurse and secretary? You were a dog that learned to bite back. And it was his doing. You were right. And he hated it.

“Be that as it may, I've become used to having a room occupied on the same floor with me and, in view of my heart, I agree it is a wise precaution. You will occupy the master bedroom with me from now on. I had William move down all your things yesterday. Your furniture, books, and everything.”

“But, Frederick... You had no right to move my things.”

“No right in my own house to move what I see fit? I'm not surprised you blush. I was in the room when William took the books from the shelves, and let me say that what we found hidden there was a very great shock to me.” He pulled out an all too familiar box and began reading from one of the first letters Louis ever wrote to you, his voice laced with thinly veiled disgust at what he thought was excessive and unnecessary schmaltz. His face was ablaze with annoyance and contempt.

…Sweetheart, I love you. There. I said it. And if you meet me tomorrow, I’ll say it again. And again. And keep on saying it till we’re old and gray. So, as soon as the war is over, let’s do it. Once everything is settled, let’s get out of Europe and go someplace far away, where war can never again touch us. I know it’s risky, but so’s staying here. The last few months have been hard, but they’re always a little easier when you’re there. As soon as I write you again to give you some sort of signal or sign, leave your boat and meet me at the hill overlooking the old bridge. Bring whatever you can carry. We’ll make do without the rest. Don’t be late.

Louis xxx

“Do these words sound familiar? They should since they’re love letters addressed to you. From another man. Don’t waste your breath trying to explain yourself, my dear. And don’t insult my intelligence by trying to deny it either. I’ve seen you for what you are. I should throw you out, as is my right as a husband with a pretty little cheat for a wife.” Frederick scoffed, “Amazing creature. To have deceived me so.”

“Don't talk like that. You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Why not, my pretty cheat? I'll talk as I please. I've been thinking about this miserable business all night. You’re insane and you must be humored. We must be reasonable and we must be realistic. I gave you a great deal.”

“I know,” you lied through gritted teeth.

“I wonder if you do.” Frederick inhaled deeply. “You're lucky it was only me and William that saw the letters. Be grateful that I don’t burn them in the fireplace or rip them to pieces. I still could change my mind about that. I have it in me, wife, to remove this impertinence.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Then don’t provoke me. I’ll only ask you once. Who is he?”

“Very well. I didn’t want to tell you this way, but you’ve forced my hand. If you must know, he’s someone I've known for nearly two years. Someone I love very much. I can't help it. How else could I say it? However I'd say it, it would be wrong. You must think I've messed this up terribly. But I’m not sorry. You want me to feel ashamed and humiliated for what I feel, for what I’ve done, but I don’t. I’m glad to have finally told you. Do you hear me? I’m glad. You dare to call me a cheat?” You scoffed. “You're one to talk. What have you given me? Love? Affection? Care? The only thing you've given me is an empty house and a marriage that leaves me thinking everyday how much I'd like to slit my wrists!” You snarled.

“Oh, darling, even before we were married, I’ve treated you like a princess! I’ve given you everything! It’s you. You’re nothing but an ungrateful little-little- You’re a little witch! When I think of-of-of all the years that I’ve worked to give you the life you have so you would never know what it is to live without the latest luxury, and this is the thanks that I get? You’re spoiled. Not just because you’re behaving like an ungrateful brat, but because you’re damaged goods. Were there others in between Captain Freycinet and this Louis? Or aren't you the kind that tells?”

“Oh, you mustn't think too harshly of my lovers. They were very kind and understanding when I came to the hospital after a hard day at home.”

“Wife!”

“Well, what did you expect? Do you think I ever would've looked at another man if I'd received one grain of affection from you? You wouldn't allow a dog in the house. Of course, you didn't need one with me around. I was petted, admired, but never loved. After nearly ten years of marriage, you still think my love can be bought with fur coats and diamonds. At least Captain Renault—”

“So that's his name? Renault?”

Your spine stiffened as you realized your mistake. In the heat of the moment, you let your mouth run away with you and gave Frederick a name to go off of. Without a doubt he'd be like a bloodhound with a scent until he found out exactly who Louis was. And when he did…you feared he’d murder him and cover it up, make it look like an accident or suicide. Or even worse, that he’d make Louis disappear altogether, erase him from history as if he never even existed. An unperson. Before you were married, you’d never figured Frederick to be the jealous or violent type. Until that horrible display in the wine cellar… You were all too aware of what Frederick was capable of when in a jealous rage. You made the mistake of underestimating him once, but you never did it again. Any retort died on your lips as you listened to Frederick’s cold and calculated voice, his tone laced with barely concealed anger and jealousy. The mask he had so carefully crafted was once again slipping. But you didn’t retreat. You pressed on.

“What happens in my love life is none of your business!” You hissed to him. “In ten years of marriage, you never cared. Why should you care now? I don't think you do. You just want everyone around you to be miserable.” You were about to end the conversation there and turn your back on him to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“That's where you're wrong. What should happen if you fall with child? By law that child would legally bear my name. And should that child resemble his or her father? You and I both know all the repercussions that would happen should that child's lineage ever be revealed. You and I both know that those whispers would forever follow that child around no matter where he or she went. There would be nothing you or I could do to protect him or her. Nothing, my pretty little fool. So, if you’ve been sleeping with another man, I have a right to know.”

“You dirty minded fool. I’m sick of listening to your filthy accusations. What about your bed? You want to act all high and mighty by telling me you never took a mistress, but what about your secretaries? What if any of them fell pregnant with your child? What would you do then? Leave me for one of them? Convince her husband to let his wife leave him for you? Why don’t you call on Margo? She’s available, you know. Jeff Cameron is a broke and poor psychiatrist, and Margo probably would leave him in a heartbeat for you and all your wealth! She warmed your bed for weeks while I was in training. Did you think I’d never find out about that? What makes you so much different than me? Maybe I want my bed warmed and maybe I want anyone but you warming it!”

“My dear, I've a dreadful headache for this sort of thing and—”

“I'm sorry, but I have a headache too, and I think mine precedes yours by quite a few years.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter whether you answer me one way or the other. Your bags are packed. If you want him, you can have him. After all, why shouldn't you have a husband? You have him, my dear. Hmm. Have a dozen of them. Sooner or later you'll come back to me. You'll realize that nothing matters but money. Everything passes but money. And me. Only first, you should know what you'll be getting yourselves into. There may come a day when it’s too late to repent and I won’t be there to save you from ruin. You can leave to be with him, that's true. Up to a point. I have an early flight to catch tomorrow, so I better pack my bag. We’ll discuss…this…further upon my return.”

During this period you couldn’t write to Louis at all because Frederick was watching you like a hawk. It was a mercy that he let you keep Louis’ letters and didn’t make you watch as he burned them all in the fireplace. Even when Frederick wasn’t physically there, he still had eyes and ears all over the mansion. While he was out doing God knows what with God knows who, he had the servants act as spies, watching your every move, listening in on your every word. Even if it appeared as if you were alone in a room, you could never be sure that there wasn’t an indoor servant lingering behind a door or an outdoor servant peering in at you from a window. Any behavior regarded as strange or unusual would be reported back to him and used against you, so you had to be discreet. Very discreet. You couldn’t trust anyone. Not even your personal maids. The periodic phone calls you received from Frederick didn’t help matters either. You had no choice but to answer them. Missing a call or failing to return a call within what he thought was a reasonable timeframe only meant trouble for you down the line.

“…I’m being kept a prisoner and you want thanks?!”

“A prisoner?” Frederick laughed, his voice sending chills down your spine as it crackled and distorted over the receiver. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit melodramatic, dear? Silly child, our house isn’t a prison. It’s…a castle, a beautiful castle in the middle of a wooded area that’s like an enchanted forest. There are millions of women who would give their right high teeth to live in a place like we do. Why, you’re surrounded by luxury and just look at the view from any of the balconies. Darling, where are you ever going to find a view again like that?”

“Oh, I don’t care about the view! I’m bored with it! Sure, it’s pretty, but after a while it all seems the same. It’s boring and I’m bored being here all by myself, cooped up surrounded by servants but no one to talk to, no one to share with!”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t you worry. Don’t you worry. I’ll be home soon and I’ll keep you company every day until I have to leave again. Every day.”

“But I want a friend.”

“Your own husband isn’t good enough for you anymore?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that I want someone new and exciting to come into my life.”

“And take you away from me like those Frenchmen almost did? Never! No, it’s out of the question!”

“But Frederick—”

“No, no, no! You’ve fooled me once, you’ve fooled me twice, but I will not let you do this to me a third time!”

You knew you would have to wait for an opportune day when everyone was out of the house except for you, when all the servants were off while Frederick was on a business trip or otherwise gone. You couldn’t just dismiss them all for the day outright. That would look too suspicious. So you came up with a plan that would ensure the servants were kept silent and distracted. You gathered them all in the foyer and told them that you wanted to host a surprise party for your husband to welcome him home when he returned from his business trip overseas. With everyone sent out on errands for a big and important event, you were finally able to have a moment alone. You made just one phone call.

“Mrs. Lannington, this just came by air express from New York.”

“Thank you.”

“The seamstress is here about the dress. Do you want her in?”

“In a little while.”

“Yes, madame. I'll get another blanket and bring your clothes up as soon as I get a chance.”

“No, thank you. You needn't bother.”

“Yes, madame.”

Frederick returned from his business trip in America much earlier than originally anticipated, but all of the servants and party guests knew that he would. You were ready for him. As his wife and mistress of his great house, he always told you that you needed to learn to expect the unexpected. No matter how late it was in the evening, he still expected you to greet him when he came in. But you purposely weren’t there to greet him that night.

“Quiet, everybody. Here he comes now.”

“Surprise!” The crowd shouted simultaneously in a cacophonous uproar of excitement.

“Who thought up this torture?”

A woman took him by the arm to lead him through the crowd. “Oh, Frederick, dear, you are surprised, aren't you?”

“Horribly.”

“You see, your wife did remember you would be coming home today, so she wanted to throw you this welcome home party.”

“A party indeed.” He went around shaking the hands of the guests and giving them a well-practiced smile. “Madame. How do you do? Thank you. I'm delighted to see you, sir.” But after exchanging pleasantries and idle chitchat just long enough to not seem rude, he asked, “If you’d be so kind as to tell me where I can find my wife?”

Frederick didn’t bother to knock as he opened the door to the guest bedroom. You were powdering your face and putting in your earrings, but you saw him through the mirror’s reflection as he stood in the open doorway. “This is quite the welcome home party. Well, I hope I'm welcome, my dear. You look as if you were seeing a ghost.”

“How did you get here so quickly?”

“Quickly? I have the impression I'm too late. That object on my dining room table, I presume, is a cake. Champagne, all very fitting. I infer a lover. Make me acquainted with him.”

“He’s not here. It’s just a small gathering of our friends. After all, we don’t want a repeat of what happened at the last party we hosted, now do we, darling?”

Your small gathering of friends turned out to be a full house with well over a hundred people. And, since you were in charge of the invitations the second time around, it had an even larger turnout than the last party you hosted when you were newlyweds. You knew that, and he knew that too. Whatever game you were playing at, Frederick wasn’t amused.

“What are you doing in this room?”

“I'm going to sleep here.”

“Didn't you understand I wished someone to sleep on the same floor with me?”

“We can get one of the maids, Frederick, or perhaps we can get a dog.”

“‘We’? So long as I pay the bills, I'm running this house. Please remember you're a guest, my dear.”

“Well, if I am one, then please treat me like one, Frederick. Your guest prefers to sleep in this room, if you don't mind.”

“This is no time for humor. As it so happens, I do mind.” He gestured to a case of camellias on a side table. “Where did these flowers come from?”

You turned to him and spoke with the false spontaneity of a liar. “From Switzerland.”

“Who sent them?”

“I've forgotten the name of the florist. I think it's on the box.”

“I've seen it. I had the box brought to me. You know perfectly well what I mean. What person sent the flowers?”

“There wasn't any card.”

“In other words, you don't intend to tell me.”

“Frederick, I don't want to be disagreeable or unkind. I've come home to live with you again, here in the same house. But it can't be in the same way. I've been living my own life, making my own decisions for a long while now. It's impossible to go back to being treated like a child again. I don't think I'll do anything of importance that will displease you, but, dear, from now on you must give me complete freedom, including deciding what I wear, where I sleep, what I read...”

“Where did you get that dress?“

You were dressed for the occasion. You had changed into a dress that was very Italian, very chic, and exceedingly becoming. And not handpicked by your husband.

“I had it shipped in from New York today.”

You customized your dress with the camellias sent by your not so secret admirer, wearing them proudly close to your heart. When your monstrous husband clapped eyes on your new look, he was horrified. Desperate to re-assert his authority and to prevent his now glamorous wife from stealing the limelight, he told you to put on one of your old frocks for the party. After all, this party was for him, wasn’t it? If he was the guest of honor, shouldn’t his opinion have been taken into consideration?

“It's outrageous. Where's the dress I bought for you from Nassau?”

“I gave it away to Suzanne, the niece of a French stockholder. She was so grateful. Frederick, please be fair and meet me halfway.”

“On my first day home after such a long absence, and you behave like this. How much did that dress cost?”

“It was frightfully expensive. I'll tell you about it in the morning.”

“To whom did you charge it?”

“To whom I've always charged my clothes, Frederick.”

“And you expect me to pay for articles charged to me of which I do not approve?”

“Well, I could pay for it myself. I've saved quite a little money. I have about $5000.”

“$5000 won't last very long. Especially if your monthly allowance were to be discontinued. I'm sure you've always had everything in the world you want.”

“I haven't had independence.”

“That's it. That's what I want to talk about. Independence. To buy what you choose, wear what you choose, sleep where you choose. Independence. That's what you mean by it, isn't it? I make the decisions here, my dear. I'm willing you should occupy your old room. One of the maids will occupy the guest room next to the master bedroom for the time being and will perform a wife’s duties as well as a nurse's if you will not. That will give you a good chance to think over what I've said. I'm very glad to give a devoted wife a home under my roof and pay all her expenses, but not if she scorns my authority.”

“Well, I could earn my own living, Frederick. I've often thought about it. I could resume my job as a nurse and work in the hospital again or—”

“You may think that very funny. But I guess you'll be laughing out of the other side of your face if I did carry out my suggestion.”

“I don't think I would. I'm not afraid, Frederick.” As soon as you said it, it finally dawned on you. “I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid, Frederick.”

“Wife, sit down. I find all this very distasteful. Your dress isn’t what I wanted to discuss with you at all.”

“All right, I'll listen quietly. What do you wanna discuss with me?”

“I want you to know something I've never told you before. It's about my will. You'll be the most powerful and wealthy member of the Lannington family, if I don't change my mind. I advise you to think it over.”

As Frederick kept speaking, you understood the implications of his words, his thinly veiled threats of blackmail. You could leave and be with Louis, that was true. But he refused a divorce so you’d never be able to marry Louis so long as he lived. And if you left, he’d not only write you out of his will, he’d use his connections to expose Louis’ secrets regarding Stevenson’s death and the true parentage of the boy he publicly recognized as his to every newspaper across both America and Europe. It didn’t matter if any of it was true or not. It was the word of a millionaire with all the influence in the world against the word of a poor soldier. And money had such a persuasive way of talking. Every newspaper and tabloid, no matter how trashy, would pick up such a story, and bored housewives would be more than eager to spread such hot gossip in their circles, desperate for a break from their monotonous lives even if it meant living vicariously through the lives of others. Word would get around to men’s clubs and more, and It wouldn’t take long to destroy Louis’ future, as well as that of the boy. Of course, he’d keep silent if you would. He’d give you his word, only if you’d give him yours in return. Realizing that you had been tricked, you were fuming and seething. Your husband had you right where he wanted you, and you could do nothing about it. And he knew that.

“Tonight, when you came back, you told me I could go away with him. To get my hopes up. You had all this planned out from the beginning. Oh, you swine!”

“That is a very coarse expression coming from so smartly dressed a young woman. I'm referring to that handsome coat hanging neglected in your wardrobe.”

“Take it back then, you...” You took it off the hanger and threw it at him, but he was unfazed as it hit him. Your eyes were alight with indignation and hatred.

“I seem to remember the dress too! But restrain yourself, my dear. A servant might come in.”

“I never loved you. I tell you, I never loved you!”

“Of that there was never any question, my dear. But I can assure you, you’ve had many very good reasons for being grateful. So you're conceding to my terms. Well, I think that's wise. A scandal can be quite damaging to a career…and to a personal life.”

“You don't think that's why I'm agreeing.”

“The point's irrelevant. I can only hope that this shameful episode in your life is completely past. We best go down to your guests, Mrs. Lannington. You can have your fun tonight, enjoy your little party, but I’ve just decided I’ll be leaving for America on an impromptu business trip next week. It’s a good thing your bags are already packed, because I’ve also just decided you’re coming with me.” He wasn’t asking you. He was telling you. Before you could turn and storm away, Frederick reached out and grabbed your wrist in a tight grasp. A warning. “You know, darling, I'm very fond of you. And I might never have taken this step at all, if I hadn't discovered that… Well, after all, darling, a penniless French officer? I thought you had learned your lesson the first time a Frenchman came to this house uninvited. But it appears not. While I’m disappointed, I can’t say I’m surprised. First Captain Freycinet, and now this Captain Renault. You seem to have developed an…acquired taste for poor Frenchmen in uniform. You and your little two-timing heart. I can forgive you having an affair, but I can’t forgive you having such low standards in the men you take to your bed. Your taste in men, aside from me, is abysmal. Of course your being married to me made no difference to them. It never has.”

“Frederick, please do try to be fair.”

“Fair? Was it fair giving yourself to men like that?”

“That isn’t true. I was with Henri before I was with you, and he didn’t know I was married when he came to the house that night. Louis didn’t know either. He still doesn’t know.”

“You’d say that. You’d say anything to protect him.”

“Please don’t talk like that! Don’t you see it’s something none of us could help? He doesn’t know. He asked me to marry him—”

“He’d say anything to get his way.”

“You’re wrong. You’ve got to believe me!”

“Oh, I don’t blame you. I know that you were sincere. But Renault!”

“Frederick, Frederick! If you harm him, if anything happens to him, I shouldn’t care to live. I wouldn’t live. If you do anything to hurt him, anything at all, I will kill myself. I will turn my death into a grand public spectacle for the world to see. And then you’ll have a scandal worthy of your name.”

You wouldn’t let history repeat itself. You wouldn’t let Frederick lay a hand on Louis the same way he did Henri. If he so much as touched a hair on Louis’ head, you would follow through with your threat. Your suicide would get splashed on the front page of every major newspaper all across America and Europe, ensuring you’d have one last laugh over your husband from beyond the grave. His name would get dragged through the mud and he would be ruined into obscurity. His power over you hinged on his carefully constructed reputation, his public persona. His social influence was determined based not just on his money, but on what the public thought of him too. If you killed yourself in such a grandiose manner, you’d destroy everything he had painstakingly built over his lifetime within mere seconds, whether or not you left a note. Especially if you left a note. He’d lose everything. He’d have nothing. You’d ruin his life and reputation even in death. As Frederick stared into your eyes, there was a fire in them that he thought he distinguished years ago. He could tell you weren’t bluffing. He had no choice but to back down.

That year when your wife passed, I was thinking of going to the funeral. Frederick said he’d rather see me dead than hanging around Louis Renault again. Something about that woke something up inside of me. Because when we went our separate ways, it was fine because it was us, but who was he to keep us apart? So that night, I fought back.

You stood up for yourself and defied Frederick by knocking your party guests dead with your new look. As you went around the room and socialized, you grabbed some hors d'oeuvres from passing servers and didn’t care if it looked unladylike as you stuffed your face and asked William to replenish your depleted champagne glass whenever it was getting low. You were in a mood of determined gaiety as you watched and even joined in the merriment.

Then came the big finale a few hours later. Drawn in light upon the starry-black of night, fireworks interrupted the black, spreading pops of color as if the sky were a canvas awaiting ink of brilliant light. Right next to Heaven's stars were those blossoms of rainbow light. With the party guests once more enraptured, their eyes half closed against the minute points of dazzling reflections and accepted only by the kaleidoscopic shuttling of prismatic color, nobody paid attention to their hosts of the evening as they stayed behind. Partially obscured by the crowd, you appeared from the darkness, backing towards one of the white pillars of the terrace so that your face remained hidden as you stood next to your husband.

“Well, if we do have to leave, at least we gave a memorable farewell party,” Frederick said in a hushed tone, sipping from his champagne flute.

“I gave a memorable farewell party for you. I've instructed the maids to pack up all your things. Your essential things, at least, with enough money to get you on a boat back to America and out of my life.” Your voice matched his in volume, but your tone was firm. Final. Uncompromising.

“I thought I told you that we were leaving together.”

“No. You are leaving. Alone. And it’s clear to me that you don’t care about me at all, so I’m sending you away with your favorite person. Yourself.”

“This entire mess was as much your fault as was mine. If not more.” He raised his voice, now laced with agitation, but only slightly. Still nobody but you could hear him.

“Do you honestly expect anyone to believe that such a confident, well-spoken man needed a woman to help him manage his estate? A woman who’s a victim herself, having been a loving wife while her husband couldn’t keep his affairs in order and was embroiled in chronic infidelity that took place in her own house, in her own bedroom. There’s a record of it, husband. From now on, I’ll be the sole beneficiary and take full ownership of whatever’s left of my inheritance, as well as a fair share of your money to support myself. And I had Velma forge a signature on a document stating that since neither you nor I have any male next of kin, the estate shall pass to whomever I deem your successor, should I outlive you. Velma has excellent penmanship, you see. Your society, of course, will be infuriated to discover that you have abandoned me, your wife of many years, to run away to America with your money and your mistress.”

“You viper!”

“Never touch me again. You’re welcome to try to explain it to them, now that they're all gathered... And you’re not leaving any worse off than when you arrived. With nothing. Nothing but your cold hard cash, just as incapable of loving you as I am.”

“You’re making a terrible mistake.”

“I made my mistake years ago, when I married you.”

He chased me out of the house and into the woods. He was the one who brought the knife. It’s funny, Frederick’s the one that made me go to nursing school. That’s why I knew where his femoral artery was. Not sure if I hit it, but I left him out there. His body was never found. Maybe he crawled somewhere for help, maybe he died in those woods and was eaten by wild animals. You say you killed your family? I hope I killed mine. I hope you don’t hate me for what I did. I hope you can forgive me. I’m sorry I kept this from you for so many years after the fact, but I only just learned to come to terms with it and forgive myself.

Eternally yours xxxxxxx

It wasn't anything like what Louis expected. The farther down he read, the more his face showed his heart breaking for you, until it got to the point where it was excruciating to have to witness your suffering through your own words. What he experienced while reading your letter felt like a thousand tiny paper cuts in comparison to the living hell you endured. He couldn’t even begin to imagine it. You, locked in an ivory tower, subjected to daily cruelty which included punishment by scourges and flaying, the scourges being your husband’s tongue and the flaying being done by his hand. And then to have to go through it twice! You experienced it firsthand once and relived it again, all so you could relay your story to him through writing. By the time he reached the bottom of the page, his grief was joined by something else. Though he was shocked at your confession of killing a man, your own husband, he understood the position you were in and why you referred to it as “the very bad thing” in your previous letters. You were a victim of years of marital abuse and, though it wasn’t physical, it left scars all the same. Scars that took years to heal. And though those scars didn’t hurt you anymore when you thought of your husband, they were still there. They always would be. He thought back to when he received that phone call from you out of the blue years ago. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what you were saying or what your call meant. Everything about your voice felt…off. There was no better way to describe it.

“Hello? Yes?”

“Hello? Hello, Louis.”

“Darling! Oh, thank God. You’re alive. I’ve been so worried, your letters stopped coming and the hospital either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me anything about you or your whereabouts and I thought— It’s been so long since I last heard from you. How did you get my number? Is there anything wrong?”

“I know. I’m sorry. The short of it is, I was forced to quit nursing. I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I can’t explain any of it now, but I promise I will. Someday. I know I can’t see you, but I just had to hear your voice. Oh, Louis. My sweet, darling Louis. I just wanted to hear you speak to me. I wish you could come to see me. I'm so lonesome here.”

“Sweetheart? Your voice sounds strange. Are you hurt? If you’re in any danger or difficulties, I cou—”

“No! No. No, I’m— Well, I’m not okay, but I’ll manage just fine on my own for now. We made our pact, and I still want us to live up to it. Darling, tell me now, have we lost our chance? Have you moved on and found someone else?”

“No, never.”

“You're not angry with me?”

“No. Only with myself. I was a cad to make you care for me and then, because of some noble sense of duty, to leave you to get over it the best you can. And there isn't a thing I can do about it. Madeleine still depends on me more and more. She's ill and getting worse. And there's Johnny. Even if I could chuck everything—”

“But I wouldn't let you, Louis. Louis, what's the feminine for your word? That's what I am. I knew you were married, and I walked right in with my eyes wide open. But you said it would make you happier.”

“And it has. I've found love again, and it's due to you.”

“I've been hoping you'd say that.”

“I have more understanding for Johnny. I'm even kinder to Madeleine. So don't blame yourself.”

“Then don't you.”

“It's different.”

“It's not. Shall I tell you what you've given me? On that very first day, a little bottle of perfume made me feel important. You were my first friend. And then when you fell in love with me, I was so proud. And when I came home, I needed something to make me feel proud. And your camellias arrived, and I knew you were thinking about me. I could've walked into a den of lions. As a matter of fact, I did, and the lions didn't hurt me. Please take back what you said.”

“If you can marry me and we can have a full and happy life someday, I will.”

“I'll try.”

After reading your letter, suddenly your past behavior made sense. Your reluctance to accept his proposal, wanting to wait until the war was over before you gave him an answer…your disappearance and cryptic letters… You must’ve been so afraid. You probably lived day in and day out in fear that your past would catch up with you and you’d be booked for the murder. You could’ve told him that you were widowed. You could’ve gone your whole life without ever telling him what transpired on the night of your husband’s death. You could’ve gone your entire life telling him you were unmarried and never mentioned Frederick at all. Whatever your story was, he wouldn’t have pried any further than what you told him. He didn’t need details about what happened or how Frederick died. You told him the truth about what happened that night because you trusted him with your deepest and darkest secret. You didn’t need to ask for his forgiveness for keeping this from him for so many years. There was nothing to forgive. It was your secret, and it was up to you to decide if you wanted to tell it or carry it to the grave. Just to be safe, he burned your incriminating letter in the fireplace. It would be kept between just the two of you. Nobody else would ever know. Not even Johnny or any other future family members.

Though reading your letters kept him sane and helped him to cope with his trauma and snap him out of his self-inflicted spiral of self-torture and rumination, he regretfully told you that he couldn’t be with you until his son came of age. He felt he had a duty to John that he needed to fulfill. He needed to focus on giving Johnny the best future he possibly could. Before Louis could allow himself to remarry, he needed to raise Johnny to be someone John would be proud of, a better man than even himself. He couldn’t explain his reasonings beyond that. He knew if you stood in front of him at the courthouse and married him now, he’d never be able to keep his hands off you. If he had the future with you that he wanted, he was certain you’d conceive a child before your first anniversary. As much as he wanted a child with you, he just wasn’t ready.

He knew that if you became pregnant, he’d be unable to love you and your child in the way that you both deserved to be loved. He wouldn’t be able to devote himself to either of you wholeheartedly, because he still felt like half of him died when John and Madeleine did. He made a promise to John, to Madeleine, to himself, and to Johnny. He needed to see it through. He couldn’t even think of romance or marriage until then. He wrote to you and reiterated that, while he wasn’t choosing to do this as a form of punishing either you or himself, he didn’t blame you if you couldn’t understand him or his reasons for purposely keeping himself away from you. He didn’t blame you if you didn’t want to wait for him. A long distance relationship was too much for most people to bear. He knew he was asking a lot from you by asking you to wait until Johnny was at least eighteen years old.

He was open and honest with you. He told you in no uncertain terms that, while he wouldn’t commit himself to or love any other woman apart from you, it was highly likely that he’d sleep around from time to time. He couldn’t survive on oxygen alone. He had to be surrounded by women. Although he’d sleep with them, he promised you that he wouldn’t lead them on. He’d take every precaution to ensure he didn’t father a bastard child with any of them. None of the women he’d take to his bed could ever hope to hold a candle to you. They’d be a means to an end, a distraction, a way for him to cope with his trauma, survivor’s guilt, and loneliness. He acknowledged that it may seem ironic and hypocritical of him, given how much his wife’s infidelity hurt him in the past. But he told you that, while Madeleine kept John like a dirty little secret, he wouldn’t do the same to you. He wouldn’t keep any secrets from you, no matter how long you were apart.

If you wanted to take other men as lovers, you were more than welcome to. Louis knew that, like himself, you couldn’t live on oxygen alone. You had to be surrounded by men. You could sleep with whoever you wanted and didn’t need his permission. He told you that, since you were so beautiful and so witty, all you’d have to do was just sit, and they’d come to you. You could have a line of lovers in zero time flat. Besides, he thought you’d handle them very well. He joked that it’d save him the trouble of sending flowers and candy. Louis was so open to it that he playfully encouraged you to write to him and tell him of your dates and outings, all your little erotic escapades. In return, he promised that he’d tell you about his. For you and Louis, your little dalliances with other people wouldn’t mean anything and you’d both make sure all the intimate partners you had knew that.

But he added that he’d understand if this was something you weren’t comfortable with and couldn’t agree to. He didn’t want to make you feel as if you were held to some obligation to him. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel as if you were wasting your life away by waiting around for him. You were still young, you could marry any man of your choosing. If you wanted to move on and find another man to spend the rest of your life with, he’d respect your decision. He didn’t want to be selfish and rob you of the chance to get pregnant and have children of your own if that was what you wanted. He wanted you to be happy, even if you found that happiness with another man. It’d hurt for a good long while and, although it’d never leave him completely, the pain would eventually numb until it became bearable. Not pleasant, but bearable. While he wouldn’t find another love after you, he’d want you to find love again even if it couldn’t be with him.

5 June 1924

…Bereavement, grief, comes in waves. Though it ebbs over time it sometimes still feels as if my soul needs to bleed an ocean through my eyes. Eyes that never blink, only watch the world continue in this numbing sense of sorrow. Sometimes when I think Madeleine and John have settled into my memories for another year, content to be silent, invisible, they come back, unannounced, to the forefront of my mind. Guilt will do strange things. Lock the truth in a cage and warp love into something strange and awful. Loving him meant I would have traded places in a heartbeat, fought until we either both lived or died. And so, for me, the mourning period didn’t offer me the catharsis I hoped for. Bereavement has been my companion these past few years, a shadow that, in time, has lessened until it’s all but gone. It doesn’t hurt anymore but it’s still there, transformed into something else. Where it once was, holding my hand like a vise, I find the flowers of happy memories with you instead. Where there was pain, so much pain, there’s now a form of joy and pride for whom John and I were and what we achieved together. While France is healing from the war, I’m healing alongside her, darling. I love you.

Louis xxx

12 August 1928

…I believe that when you meet your soulmate, the universe will show you the price of what you wish for. The real deal is never cheap. Those who will pay the price of emotional pain can learn what love is, can feel the blessing of true love. So, I ask you, is our love worth it? I believe it is. But do you? When I first met you, my darling Louis, I saw what was on the table and knew what the cost of your love was. But I didn’t balk or turn away, because I knew then that you were the one for me. While I’ll admit you aren’t the first man I’ve ever loved, I can promise you that you’ll be the last. While it wasn’t love at first sight and I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, there was a moment where I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.

Our pathways may come together and separate again for months or, as you say, years. The kind of love we have is something we must pay for with personal struggle. Through no faults of our own, fate has asked us to wait for each other. Those who won't wait for their soulmate or take on any struggle can't have “the one”. But I’m willing and ready to wait for you because, sweet Louis, when we’re finally married, everything that we are will be shared just as it is now. Your struggles will be my struggles, my pain will be your pain, your joys will be my joys, and my happiness will be your happiness. So is it really so different than what we have now? Though I don’t have a ring or a signed piece of paper, in so many ways, I feel as if I’ve been your wife for years already. It comes down to whether or not you love me, and whether or not I love you. That’s it. The rest is just detail. And I do love you. So very, very much. And I know you love me in a way you thought you’d never love again. So we’ll be all right in the end. I’ll send you snaps and enclose them with my letters so you can see what I see, feel what I feel, love what I love. I hope you’ll show me the same courtesy. All my love, sweet Louis.

Patiently yours xxxxx

15 February 1932

It’s the day after Valentine’s Day. I’ll kiss this crisp piece of paper I’m writing on and stain it with my favorite shade of lipstick so I can send you all my love and kisses, darling. The neighbors think I don’t hear them as they whisper and gossip about me. They think I'm a fool to wait and spend my days like I do. Eyes set to the horizon, arms resting on the cold metal rail, sitting alone on a park bench with my nose stuck in a book or my eyes downcast and scribbling away on sheets of paper as I write to you. I do so much more than just fritter away my time pining after you, my dearest. But they don’t see that. The way I see it, they're missing the greatest mysteries of life as they chase the mundane and trip over the minute details of existence. Waiting here gives me time to let my mind escape the boundaries of the ordinary, to think beyond the offerings of modern living. I ponder the threads that bind one person to another and the wounds that separate. I think about the origins of goodness and what humanity really is. Waiting here while others do important things is such a gift, a blessing of time. I would give up an eternity of tedium to simply solve a great mystery. All my love, sweet Louis.

Patiently yours xxxxx

17 July 1936

It's sunny today, around eighty-five degrees. Sky’s blue and clear and beautiful. I took a walk through the botanical garden. Followed the same path Henri and I walked down when we were all young and in love. It made me laugh thinking how nervous he was. His palms were sweating so bad I'd thought he was going to pass out! He was just too cute. Well, I'm sure you're tired of that story by now. I just keep thinking about that walk and what it would be like if you were the one beside me. I'd give anything to go back there, to show you all of my favorite spots. The sun doesn't seem as bright without you today but, when I close my eyes, its warmth makes me feel like you're here with me. Don't worry about a thing. Just think about the big hug I'll be giving you when you and I meet. I love you with every breath, my wonderful Louis.

Patiently yours xxxxx

[mingi-bubu]

17. Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys

Shirasawa Mami x Kuroiwa Kensuke, pre-relationship, canon compliant, prose that has a tendency to get sidetracked mid-sentence because that's how I think Mami probably thinks, playing a bit fast and loose with canon and characterization bc I haven’t watched it in a while, the bisexual lighting is intentional but doesn’t add anything to the fic really; i’m just queer and wanted it lol, ~3k words 76 Kisses Masterlist || ao3 link

Mami always figured that she'd end up like this, running away from angry men who were trying to either kill her or kidnap her.  She knew that with her passion for justice, and strict oath to find it, that someone would take umbrage with it and try to hunt her down.  She didn't expect that she'd have someone there with her, running beside her.

(Or, well, ahead of her and pulling her arm, so she could keep up.  Damn him and his long legs.)

She had always been a fairly solitary person, for reasons both self-imposed and not.

(It's hard to make friends when you're known as the girl whose dad mysteriously vanished.  Even harder when you're also the youngest lawyer most people meet.)

But somehow she managed to become… friends, question mark, with con-artist and unwilling good person Kuroiwa Kensuke.

(For as much as he denies it, she knows he does care. He would've left her long before they reached this point if he didn't.)

Unfortunately, due to Kuroiwa's habit of defrauding people—something she can't break him of, but can direct it towards more deserving people—it tends to result in angry people when they realized they've been fleeced.

Honestly, given that they were almost burned alive in their second case, she's surprised it's taken this long to have men with guns (maybe more, she assumes) chasing her and Kuroiwa. It all started with a woman around Kuroiwa's age, about a decade older than Mami herself, coming to them and explaining how her younger brother had gotten himself into a hole with a loan shark. Her brother had paid him back, but the man is now claiming the interest on the loan was higher than what they agreed on. And because her brother didn't think to ask for any written word originally, the case wasn't strong enough for the law firm they contacted to take it on.

(Mami was still suspicious about that last part and held a strong belief that everyone in the woman’s hometown was on the shark’s payroll.  Kuroiwa told her to stop being so dramatic, but his behavior changed slightly.  It wasn’t an obvious change to anyone else, but she had been working with him and lived in his office.  She knows how he acts.)

“If you get us killed,” Kuroiwa shouts behind his shoulder at Mami, “I’m going to kill you.”

Despite the fear screaming through her veins, she still finds it in herself to roll her eyes.  “Less empty threatening, more running, Kuroiwa!”

The two revenge agents skirt around a group of small families watching a man on the street make animals out of molten sugar.  Mami wasn’t sure if she was happy that the loan shark’s thugs had taken the bait and followed her and Kuroiwa to the nearest larger city.  The two of them figured it’d be easier to possibly set a trap for the shark if they were in a town that wasn’t on his payroll, though.  The winding streets and bright, flashing lights of the neon signs for bars and clubs definitely helped now that they were running for their lives.  It’s just her luck then that when she trips, Kuroiwa pulls her up and into an alley between two bars.  The inertia of the pull forces her into his chest, and she feels him exhale suddenly when his back hits the brick wall behind him.  For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, she thinks wryly.

Over the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the low thrum of music joins them.  Mami realizes her hands are clutching the sides of Kuroiwa’s jacket, and she pulls back hastily.  She pushes her hair out of her face and takes deep breaths, or tries to at least, given how she’s still panting from the sprint.  Her eyes darting around, she takes in the alleyway where they were hiding.  The flashing neons painted her and Kuroiwa in shades of blues, purples, and pinks.  The pavement beneath them was slightly damp with puddles here and there that, too, changed color with the lights.  There was a dumpster halfway down the alley next to a back door, and facing it from the opposite building was a mirrored image.  The building behind Mami was different though, in that there must be some sort of laundromat inside, the fog coming from behind the dumpster too light to be smoke from a fire.  And when the winds changed, she could smell detergent along with the stench of trash.

“What are we going to do?”  She asks, her eyes now combing the walls higher up on the buildings, looking for a fire escape that they could possibly use to get to the roof or at least a few stories up.  High enough that if the thugs were to run down the alley, they might miss her and Kuroiwa.

During her inspection, she misses Kuroiwa’s eyes contemplating her.  “Hold still,” he says, putting one hand on her shoulder.  When she turns back to him, he slips a hand into her hair, tugging at the base of her ponytail-braid, and the other hand leaves her shoulder, coming up to tug at the end of the ponytail-braid.

“Kuroiwa!  What do you think you’re doing?”  She snaps at him, trying to pull his hands away from her head.

“Don’t call me out like that.”  He shushes her, taking a moment to slap at her hands before he goes back to pulling the scrunchie and elastic out of her hair.  “Do you trust me?”

Mami scrunches her nose at him in confusion at the sudden question.  “What does that have to do wi-”

He cuts her off, his fingers stilling as he ducks his head to look in her eyes.  He asks again, his tone just as serious as before.  “Do. You. Trust. Me?”

She thinks back on everything they’ve been through.  Her mind lingers on how he took the knife from her, refused to let her become a killer, told her that she is better than him…  That she can do better than him.

He must see something change in her eyes, and he puts on a cocky, but reassuring, smile.  “Then trust me now, okay?”

Mami takes a deep breath and nods, letting him finish taking her hair down.  The elastic and scrunchie slide onto his wrist without a second thought.  “Run your hands through your hair,” he orders, stepping back from her and taking off his jacket.  “Make sure the braid is gone.”

She does as he says, tilting her head and combing through her hair, undoing the braid, wincing when her fingers catch on knots.  When she finishes, she straightens up and looks at him, wordlessly asking what she should do next.

Kuroiwa stays quiet, which was not what she had expected.  His face was shadowed in blue, the pink neons turning his white dress shirt pink.  Feeling annoyed with him, something that wasn’t new to her, she opens her mouth to speak when the sounds of distant, but angry, voices start to filter through the music.  His eyes widen, and he throws his jacket around her, using it to spin her and press her back to the wall he was before.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he says, his voice low and quick.

Mami boggles at him, mind whirling from the rapid changes of pace.  He rolls his eyes when she doesn’t immediately jump to his orders.  Which isn’t a change from their norm, but he would appreciate her being a little bit faster on the ball right now.  Kuroiwa grabs her hands, careful to not jostle the jacket from her shoulders, and lifts them to his head.  The voices are louder now, and he’s almost able to make out what they’re yelling.  This seems to jar her out of her thoughts and she takes over, threading her fingers into his hair.

“What now,” she asks, the lights making her look like a watercolor painting.

“Don’t let my jacket touch the ground.”  He leans in closer to her, slouching, so their faces are even once again.  “And sue me later,” he jokes.

Mami barely has a minute to process that last sentence before Kuroiwa’s lips are on hers.  Her wide, surprised eyes stare into his equally wide eyes.  She pulls away, her hands leaving his hair to push at his shoulders, but she can only move so far from him when cornered like this.

“Explain and explain fast,” she hisses, feeling betrayal rise in her for some reason.

“Have you never-” Kuroiwa cuts himself off, “Those men are chasing us.  We are in a section of the downtown where it wouldn’t be unheard of to have a couple kissing in an alley.  We need to hide in case they glance in here.  Usually, public displays of affection make people uncomfortable, and they move on,” he says all in one breath.

Mami blinks.  They both freeze as they hear one of the thugs, the meanest looking one if she remembers correctly, yell out, “I want all of you to check the stores, bars, train stations.  Check the alleys if you have to!  Boss wants them and wants them now!”

And with that… loud and passionate declaration from the men trying to get them, she pulls Kuroiwa forward, a surprised noise escaping him when she kisses him.

She doesn’t understand why he’s the one who’s surprised when it was his idea in the first place, but he quickly gets into character.  His hands resting on her waist, low enough that if anyone saw them, they’d look like a couple, but high enough that he wasn’t making her more uncomfortable.  Her hands slowly make their way back into his hair, like she wasn’t quite sure of her actions.  Kuroiwa reasoned it out as her not wanting to be in this situation, but for her, it was that she didn’t know what to, well, do in this situation.  She had never been in a situation like this before.  Not the running away from bad men, that’s happened before, but the kissing.  What happened with her dad made it hard to find guys who were interested before university, and once she got into university, all she cared about was getting her degree.

(Aside from dares, but she figured out quickly when that was the case.)

Kuroiwa seemed to quickly realize that she had no idea what she was doing, and took control, guiding her through the kiss.  He squeezed her waist, lightly, in reassurance when she tentatively used the hands in his hair to reposition him.  It continued like that for a few more moments, her trying something and him acquiescing, both of them keeping an ear open for footsteps coming into the alley.

Mami could feel the heat from his hands slowly marking itself through the several layers of fabric that separated her skin from his.  Her eyes slid close as if they were working of their own volition.  She could still smell the laundry detergent and trash from earlier, but they were all getting drowned out by Kuroiwa.  One of his hands slid from her hip to her head, tilting it.  Her hands dropped, one to his shoulder and the other to his neck.  While she was no judge of kisses, she did feel like this was probably a pretty decent first, considering the circumstances.

The sudden remembrance of the circumstances made her open her eyes, just enough to see clearly around them.  She sees two heavily-muscled men start to turn into the alley, and she tenses.  Her eyes stay on the two men and she can’t focus on anything but them, her lips going still.  Kuroiwa seems to figure out why she is suddenly so out of sorts and decides to amp it up a bit.  He pulls away with a sigh, and Mami thinks he’s about to turn around and try to talk their way out of this situation.  She is instead lifted by Kuroiwa and pressed to the wall by his hips as he winds his legs around his waist.

“Ku-” she cuts herself off, not wanting to give their identities away just in case.  “Kensuke!”  Her voice hisses, “What are you doing?”

“Giggle as I readjust you,” Kuroiwa orders, his voice just as quiet.  “You’re hurting my jacket.”

She rolls her eyes but lets out a fake laugh.  She thinks about what she’s seen in movies, on TV, and says loudly, as if she’s a little drunk and the only ones in the alley, “Kensuke!  Stop, somebody might see!”  She hates how Not Her she sounds, but right now it’s better to sound like someone else than to sound like herself.  Mami doesn’t linger on why she’s upset that she sounds fake.  If she does that, she’ll have to face other questions that follow.

Kuroiwa lets out a loud “Shh!” and mutters, “Hands back in hair, now.”

Mami’s hands slide back into his hair, and curls her fingers just a bit.  Enough to pull at the roots, to get him back for the comment about his jacket.  The choked sound he makes, like he was going to say something but cut himself off, was not expected.  She leans back as far as she can, given the wall supporting her, and looks down at him.  She’s not altogether that surprised to see him already glaring back up at her.

“Do you think that…?”  A question from the shorter of the two men pursuing them drifts over.  She hears them take a step or two forward, the sound of clothes rustling.

In a panic, Mami yanks Kuroiwa towards her again, their lips meeting more aggressively than before.  The new angle and the necessity to pretend they’re someone they’re not fuels Mami.  She was always pretty certain that Kuroiwa had a hard time saying no to her.  She wouldn’t have been able to move into his office in front of him without telling him beforehand otherwise.  But the change in angle gave her a different control over him than she normally has.  Though she wasn’t confident about what she was doing, the way he followed her lead reassured her.

She squeaks when he squeezes her thighs, and he pulls back enough to say, “Sorry.”  It’s meant for her alone and she gives him a small smile, reassuring him (this time) that she was following his lead as well.  He drops his arms enough that it brings them face-to-face and leans forward, their noses brushing.  “Are they still there,” he asks.

Mami tilts her head just enough that she can see around Kuroiwa.  The one who is tall keeps looking from his phone to them, eyes narrowed.  He takes another step forward, and Mami can see the veins in his arms and neck clearly standing out.  The shorter one grabs the shoulder of the taller one.  “I don’t think it’s them.”

“Then why did they stop?”  She hears the click of his phone locking.  She can feel Kuroiwa frowning at the question.

Before she or the two men can say anything, Kuroiwa says, in a very annoyed and accented voice, “Because two men are watching me and my,” a pause, no longer than a heartbeat, “fiancée kissing.  It’s kind of creepy, to be honest.”

“A total mood killer,” Mami chimes in her fake voice.

“It’s not them,” the shorter one says again to his fellow, this time much more confident.  “The two we’re looking for argue a lot, according to Takahashi.  There’s no way that these two are them.”

The taller one grunts an acknowledgement, and steps back until he and his partner are at the mouth of the alley.  “Sorry to, um, intrude on you two.  Um, congratulations on your engagement.”  The man’s voice is so uncomfortable that, if it weren’t for the fact he’d kill her and Kuroiwa in the blink of an eye, she would be doubled over in laughter.

Kuroiwa seems to think the same, since he resolutely refuses to look her in the eye.  They call out a half-hearted thank you, and Kuroiwa slowly sets her down again.  He keeps his hands on her arms as they listen to the other two walk away.

Mami counts to twenty-five before Kuroiwa stifles a laugh.  She tries to do the same.  Their eyes meet.  Suddenly they’re both doubled over, tears falling down their faces.  She’s sure it is a mixture of relief and the tension of the situation, a veritable emotional cocktail if she’s ever seen one, that’s making them respond this way.  They lean into each other for support, trying to catch their breaths.  Mami lifts a hand to wipe her face and realizes that Kuroiwa’s jacket is still over her.

“Kuroiwa,” she says, still breathless, “your jacket.”  She straightens up and starts to pull it off one shoulder.

He helps her take it off her shoulders and holds it up, back facing him.  “Ah,” he lets out an aggravated sigh, “I told you to not hurt my jacket, and what do you do?”  He doesn’t wait for a response.  “You hurt it.  Look at that!  That’s going to take forever to fix.”

He shakes it in front of her face, emphasizing his point.  She looks at the back, unimpressed.  “Get it dry-cleaned then, instead of whining about it.”  She grabs his wrist, the one with her hairstyling supplies on it, and starts pulling the elastic and scrunchie off.

“We have to get out of here,” Mami says, starting to put her hair up in a ponytail.  She doesn’t braid it, mind too focused on the next step.  “It’s obvious that the shark is controlling Misaki-san’s town.  We need to tell her.”

Kuroiwa nods and they walk to the mouth of the alley.  She’s painted in blue by the lights, and him in pink.  Without thinking about it, he reaches out and takes her hand.  The blue and pink meet.  “Let’s go.”

[goddess-aelin]

congratulations on 1200! may i request fluffy Rowaelin where Aelin pretends to be Rowan's girlfriend at a bar because Remelle's trying to hit on him?

Thanks for the prompt! :) You know that I love any opportunity to make Remelle the bad guy. And honestly, as I was writing this, Rowan the Simp just jumped right out and I can't say I'm sorry.

Masterlist

I’m still taking prompts so send them in!

Can I Buy You a Drink?

Word Count: 1.2k

Fluff, fluff, more fluff. ( I think I'm incapable of writing anything but fluff)

Rowan was tipsy. But not tipsy enough for the blonde that was currently draping herself over him. He thought that tonight would be a fun night out celebrating Lorcan's engagement to Elide. The two had been dating for two years and Lorcan finally popped the question. Rowan was actually surprised when his best friend told him. He always thought Lorcan would either be the last of their friend group to get married or just the one to never get married. Before Elide, Lorcan never seemed interested in long term relationships. But Lorcan was a changed man and the occasion certainly called for a celebration.

Which is why Rowan found himself sitting at the bar with Lorcan, Fenrys, Gavriel, Vaughn, and Connall. Elide and some of her friends that Rowan didn't know very well were across the bar on the dance floor, insisting their parties stay separate even though they were at same bar. It's also why Rowan was currently about to flip out on the girl who felt the need to touch him every five seconds. 

Rowan knew Remelle from work, unfortunately. Perhaps that's why she latched onto him tonight. Maybe he was the only person she knew here and she just wanted to feel safe. That's what Rowan kept telling himself to reign in his disgust and anger. If she pet his arm one more time, just one more time, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Lorcan knew exactly what was going on but Lorcan also knew Remelle. He knew that Remelle didn't understand the word "no" and that no matter of telling her to leave Rowan alone would work. Especially since the victim in question was a single man.

Rowan tried to busy himself in conversation with his friends. He tried to distract himself with bathroom breaks and the excuse of needing to get another drink. But when Remelle leaned into kiss him, that was the final straw. Rowan was just about to storm out of the bar when a gentle hand wrapped around his bicep.

"Hey Buzzard. I was wondering where you went off to." He felt a quick kiss to his cheek and as he looked over, he was met with the most beautiful turquoise eyes. Rowan knew this woman was named Aelin and she would most likely be Elide's maid of honor, being friends with the bride-to-be since they were kids. He had never spoken to her before today, though, which sent him fumbling for an answer. It wasn't every day that Rowan turned into a blushing teenager, but it seemed that the ring of gold around Aelin's eyes took away any of his flirtatious talents.

Rowan had the good sense to at least give her a little smile and her own answering smile was dazzling. It was probably best that he couldn't think of words. Otherwise, he might spit out something completely stupid like "I think I'm in love with you," or "marry me." Rowan's hand came up to Aelin's back and he found only a smooth expanse of skin. Was this girl trying to kill him? The eyes. The backless gold dress. The fact that she was his knight in shining fucking armor.

"Aelin." He heard Lorcan grumble. Aelin's answering smirk to Lorcan was one that could have made Rowan's knees weak if he was standing. Thank the Gods he wasn't.

"My, my Lorcan. I can't say that I ever thought I'd see the day that you grew enough courage to pop the question. I have to say, I'm impressed." It seemed that all Aelin had to do to irritate Lorcan was speak. Rowan couldn't help but smirk at his friend's discomfort.

A throat cleared. Oh yes, Remelle. The reason why Aelin's body was currently pressed into his side and why his hand was making small strokes on her back. If Rowan was being completely honest, he totally forgot about the devil-woman in front of him.

"And who exactly are you?" Remelle asked with a raised brow, as if she owned him.

Aelin, in all her golden glory, smiled sweetly and held out her hand. "I'm Aelin, his girlfriend. Who are you?" Rowan greatly enjoyed Remelle's look of surprise and subsequent open-mouthed stare. Rowan wished she would just take the hint and leave him alone. But of course she didn't. Of course she couldn't.

"All this time working together, Rowan, and yet I've never heard one word about you having a girlfriend."

It was at that statement that Rowan finally found his voice. "Well, we don't really like to flaunt it everywhere. We're both fairly private people." He knew Aelin could tell that he was getting tense if the way she ran her hand up and down his back was any indication. This woman he just met was soothing him. And it was helping. No one was more surprised than himself. Rowan wasn't usually one to let people touch him casually. He'd prefer if people kept their hands to themselves. But with Aelin, it was different.

"Aww. How sweet. I guess you wouldn't mind giving us all a little kiss then? You know what they say, kisses from other couples to give the future bride and groom good luck." Rowan scoffed.

"I don't think anyone has ever said that. That doesn't even sound real." He was about to refuse further when Aelin's hands touched his cheeks and turned his head towards her.

"C'mon Buzzard, just one sweet, little kiss? For me?"

Rowan didn't need to be asked twice, even if he was surprised. His arm around her back pulled her closer to him and his lips met hers gently. Aelin's idea of a "sweet, little kiss," however, turned into the the best kiss of his life. She kissed like she danced, with fire and passion. It was over way too soon for Rowan's liking when Aelin pulled away. He was breathless and all he could do was stare at Aelin with half-lidded eyes. He figured that when they pulled apart, Aelin would turn back to Remelle but her eyes stayed on his. She looked just as wrecked as he felt.

Slowly, they gravitated back towards each other. He was sure that Remelle could see that that had been their first kiss but he didn't care. All he could think about was tasting the whiskey on her tongue again. Rowan lost all sense of his surroundings when his lips met Aelin's again. He was enveloped by her. Her scent. Her taste. The small sounds she was making. He thought at some point he heard Lorcan mutter a seriously? But he couldn't be sure. And he didn't care.

When they finally pulled apart seconds, minutes, or hours later, Rowan Whitethorn was wrecked. Aelin started giggling and it was so damn cute that Rowan did the same. He was sure they made quite the sight for anyone to see, standing at the bar and laughing like teenagers.

Rowan kept his forehead against hers. "I'm Rowan, by the way."

Aelin let out a huff of breath. "I know. I'm Aelin."

"I know." Another round of laughter hit them again.

"I think she's gone." Rowan was about to ask who she was talking about but then remembered the reason why they were flush together in the first place.

"Thanks for that. She's been after me for years and apparently doesn't know how to take no for an answer."

Aelin rolled her eyes but then let out a sheepish laugh. "I'm sorry that I sort of attacked you like that. Elide pointed out what was happening so I just sort of...acted."

Rowan laughed. "It's obviously quite alright. And hopefully I can buy my girlfriend a drink to thank her?"

"I'll do you one better. How about a drink and a date tomorrow night? If you're free, of course." 

With his nod, she hopped onto the stool next to him. Rowan knew that they were here to celebrate his friend's engagement but he couldn't bring himself to regret staying in this little bubble with Aelin. And as they sat there the rest of the night, talking about anything and everything, neither of them saw the secret high five or smirks exchanged by the newly-engaged couple.

[messers-moony]

Home | F.H

Paring: Five Hargreeves X Fem!Reader

Summary: Five goes through everything with his best friend, and when they return with the announcement of their marriage his siblings are appalled. 

Request: “I can request a FiveXreader where the reader is loving, sweet and naive, Five's best friend but the reader has no powers (You can invent a way how they became best friends and they are in love with each other, cliché but I love) One day the reader was sitting in front of the Umbrella Academy and saw Five leave in a hurry (The scene that he will travel in time) In this the reader does not abandon Five and decides to travel in time with him, they end up trapped in the apocalylipse, can you make them stay together?  (Like married I don't know) And also the scene where they go back to 2019? Sorry, if this so bored”

Five couldn’t believe his eyes. After a failed mission, he and his siblings decided to sneak out. Klaus had spotted a park on the way home, and that’s where they went. For the first time in years, they felt like kids again. They were all ten years old and had never experienced a playground before. Allison had never laughed as much, and Diego seemed to finally forget his insecurities while swinging from monkey bars. 

Even on occasion, Luther would help Ben cross the monkey bars. Vanya was finally included, and Klaus had never seemed so carefree in his life. But Five had his eyes on someone else. She sat at one of the navy blue tables, quite a ways away from the playground, watching the siblings with a soft smile on her face. A notebook was in front of her while she twirled a pencil in her hand. 

Curiosity killed the cat. Five was too intrigued not to sit with her. So despite this probably being the only time he could experience a playground, he sat in front of her, obscuring her vision from his other six siblings. Her eyes met green ones; they looked evergreen in the dark of the night. His hair almost looked black, but she knew it had to be dark brown. 

“Good evening.” Her voice, it sounded like heaven to him, “Evening.”

It felt awkward, and the silence could’ve been cut with a knife, “My names Y/n.”

“Five.”

“Five? That’s unique.” Y/n complimented, and his cheeks flushed, “Thanks….” 

Her vision went back to the other kids, “You’d think they’ve never seen a playground before.”

“They haven’t.” Five stated, looking at his siblings, “Our father is strict, so we snook out to come here.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as rude-“

“You didn’t.” Five smiled, looking at her e/c eyes. 

Since then, Five would sneak out a lot more. His power was a fantastic tool. When he and his siblings began to sneak out more, Five always invited her. Klaus, Diego, and Vanya seemed taken with her. Y/n was always so kind and sweet. Her laugh radiated, and it made everyone around her smile. It was like she was Aphrodite, and he was Ares. 

After becoming friends with the academy kids, Y/n had a habit of sitting outside the academy. She usually sat on the edge of the sidewalk with her notebook on her lap, pencil in hand. Five couldn’t remember a time when her hand wasn’t covered in graphite or ink from drawing. He adored it, though, because it was so her. It made him stare at his black pens, aimlessly smiling, knowing that she probably had the same color ink on her hand. 

Becoming friends with Five meant knowing his ambition. Five Hargreeves was driven by his goals and wanted to do them regardless of the consequence. So Y/n knew about his dream to time travel despite his father's wishes. On a gloomy day, Y/n sat on the sidewalk. The only thing drawing her from her daydream was the slam of a gate. 

“Five!”

He didn’t turn, “Five!”

Y/n grabbed his arm, “What’re you doing?”

“I’m- I’m going to time travel.” Five stated with that daze in his eyes, “And you need to stay here.”

“No! I’m not letting you go alone!” Y/n exclaimed incredulously, “Y/n, please.” Five pleaded. 

She shook her head, “Absolutely not. Either we go together, or we stay here together.”

“Fine.” Five reluctantly agreed, holding out his hand for her. 

Hesitantly Y/n slid her fingers through his. They were intertwining their hands together. Five was so focused on time-traveling correctly that he didn’t notice the pink flush on his best friend's face. But he did it, once and twice—finally a third time. Smoke clouded the area, and fire could be seen for miles. 

Y/n dropped his hand and covered her mouth. Five circled in his spot in shock. He felt nauseous and queasy. He couldn’t believe that he let this happen. He shouldn’t have pushed himself. They were stuck. Fucking hell, they were stuck, and he couldn’t do anything. Y/n ran back to the academy, and Five followed her. The h/c haired girl stared at what used to be the Umbrella Academy. Now in ruins. Five dropped to his knees, tears collecting in his eyes. 

“It’s- it’s gone….” 

Y/n hugged him tightly, “It’s okay, we’re going to be okay.”

“I’m gonna- I’m gonna be-“ 

Five didn’t get to finish his sentence. He pushed her away and threw up to the side. When he finished, Y/n took her jacket sleeve and wiped it around his mouth—gently combing his hair from his face. Y/n had never seen Five look so drained. Seeing her in front of him, taking care of him made him break. Five broke into sobs holding onto her like a lifeline. Y/n rubbed his back and held him just as tightly. 

“I’m here, Five. I’ll keep you safe.”

Being thirteen in an apocalypse seems like a death sentence, but when you grow up the way Five did, it’s more bearable. The first few months were awful. Searching for shelter, food, clothes. It was downright hell, but they made it through. On cold nights Five would hold her close to his chest, and on hot nights Y/n would always manage to get him cold water. 

Years passed, and their friendship turned into a relationship. They needed each other to survive, and they just needed each other. Five couldn’t be more grateful that she insisted on coming. He couldn’t imagine doing this alone. But now, he had his girlfriend leaning her head on his shoulder while watching the fire. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, leaving occasional kisses on her temple. 

“I couldn’t imagine this world without you.” Five confessed, “I couldn’t imagine my life without you.” Y/n challenged. 

He smirked, “Oh, really?” 

“Don’t let it go to your head, smartass.” Y/n snorted, “Too late, it’s already there, my love.” Five retorted. 

She kissed his cheek, “Love you.”

“Love you too, darling.” 

Five years later. They were twenty-five, and he wanted to make it official. It was a rather cold day wherever they were, and Five was holding her closer than ever. Y/n was shivering on the old mattress they had found. She was constantly snuggling closer to Five’s chest. They laid facing each other, and Y/n’s head was tucked under his chin. Five’s hand ran through her long hair - after being unable to cut it - soothing her nerves. 

“Marry me.”

“What?”

“I want you - Y/n - to marry me.” Five repeated, looking down at her.

Her teeth chattered, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not like there’s anyone else to choose from.”

Y/n glared playfully, and Five chuckled, “Asshole.”

“So, what do you say? Make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”

“I say that if my fiancé doesn’t stop being an asshole, then I won't marry him.” Y/n retorted jokingly, “I love you too, pretty girl.” Five replied, smiling softly. 

He kissed her forehead and allowed her to muzzle closer into him. Gently he pulled the two plain rings he found. They were battered, of course, and the gold was dirty, but that didn’t matter. Five slipped the ring on her finger and his. Y/n placed a gentle kiss on his lips that he gladly returned. Sweet, soft, passionate, and full of love. A description of how she was. 

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Five replied, “Now get some sleep.” 

Y/n was about to fall asleep when she heard Five mutter one last thing, “Y/n Hargreeves.”

29 years. 348 months. 1512 weeks. 10,585 days. Until a woman showed up in their shelter, offering them both a job. Five could remember pushing Y/n behind him defensively. The last thing he wanted was for her to get hurt in any interaction he had. The woman offered them a way home. Five turned to his wife, and she saw it. For the first time in forty-five years, she saw it. Hope. 

Y/n took Five’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. The softest smile crossed his features before agreeing with the woman’s offer where both of them became assassins—partners in crime. Nothing turned Five on more than seeing his wife fend for herself, and god, was she good at it. Y/n was so naive and innocent when she was ten. But now? At the age of fifty-six, she wasn’t that girl anymore. 

But when they reached the age of fifty-eight, Five finally found out the correct equation. They were at their last mission, make sure John F. Kennedy gets shot and everything goes to plan, but Five had different ideas. Taking Vanya’s book from his suitcase, he looked over the equations one last time. They were going back; Five would go home today. 

“Y/n.”

“Yes, love?”

Five sighed, “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“To go home.” 

Y/n’s smile was blissful; Five could’ve fainted on the spot, “Home?! Like- Like-“

“Home.” Five answered to his overjoyed wife. 

Y/n kissed him more passionately than ever. Five could feel her gratefulness in her kiss. His hands placed themselves on her waist, and hers were around his neck. God Five never wanted to forget this feeling. The feeling of his wife in his arms, kissing him as she would never get enough. When they pulled apart, Five opened the portal. Gripping her hand, they jumped through and landed on the leaf-filled ground in the icy rain. 

“Does anyone else see Little Number Five and Little Y/n, or is that just me?“ Klaus asked, not trusting his eyes; maybe it was an illusion from the drugs. 

Five and Y/n stood up. The first thing Y/n noticed was the ring on her finger was too big now. But Five looked down at the suit he had been wearing previously. The blazer now reached his knees instead of his waist, and Y/n’s shirt was hanging off one of her shoulders. Five and Y/n looked at each other. They were thirteen all over again. 

“Shit.” 

He grabbed Y/n’s hand and dragged her into the academy. Y/n had only been in the academy a handful of times before, and she usually was only allowed in Five’s room because she wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. His siblings followed aimlessly and took their spots at the table. 

“What’s the date? The exact date.” Five inquired, grabbing different things around the kitchen. 

“The 24th.”

“Of what?”

“March.”

“Good.”

Y/n took place beside him as Five began making a peanut butter marshmallow sandwich. The same snack he used to love as a kid. Y/n could remember him trying to eat it back at their apartment the commission provided them but complained it was too sweet. It seems that being in his teenage body again made him crave the sweetness of the snack. 

“So, are we gonna talk about just what happened?” Luther questioned, but no one answered, “It’s been 17 years.”

Five scoffed, “It’s been a lot longer than that.”

The same big spatial jumped behind Luther as he began to take marshmallows from the cabinet, “I haven’t missed that.” Luther murmured. 

“Where’d you two go?” Diego asked. 

“The future.” Y/n answered politely, “It’s shit, by the way.” Five added spatial jumping beside her again and gently kissing her cheek. 

The siblings stared in shock at Five’s sudden act of affection; Five could feel their eyes on him, “What?”

“You just kissed her.” Allison stated, “And?”

Allison didn’t say anything, “Is it a crime for me to kiss my wife or something?” Five asked agitatedly. 

“Wife?!”

“Yes, wife.” Five sighed. 

“Called it!” Klaus exclaimed. 

“I should’ve listened to the old man. You know, jumping through space is one thing.” Five began as he looked through the fridge, “Jumping through time is a toss of the dice.” 

He came back with peanut butter in his hand at the front of the table, his wife beside him; he took in the appearance of his siblings, “Nice dress.”

“Oh, well, Danke!” Klaus smiled. 

“Wait, how did you two get back?” Vanya questioned. 

“In the end, I had to project our consciousnesses forward into a suspended quantum state version of ourselves that exists across every possible instance of time.” 

Diego couldn’t wrap his head around it, “That makes no sense.”

Five went to remark, but Y/n cut him off, “It doesn’t have to. All that matters is that we’re back.”

“How long were you two there?” Luther queried, “Forty-Five years. Give or take.”

Everyone looked at the two teens in disbelief, “So what are you saying? That you’re 58?”

“Well, not exactly. Our consciences are 58, but it appears that our bodies are back to 13.” Y/n answered. 

“Wait, how does that even work?”

“It seems that Five might’ve gotten the equations wrong.” Y/n replied, and Five glared at her, “I’m not mad! I’m just happy we’re home. Appearance be damned.”

Five took notice of the newspaper in front of Y/n, “Guess I missed the funeral.”

“How’d you even know about that?” Luther inquired, “What part of the future do you not understand?” Five retorted. 

“Heart failure?” Y/n asked, “Yeah/No.” Luther and Diego contradicted. 

Five clicked his tongue, “Nice to see nothings changed.”

The teenage boy began to walk away, “Uh, that’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Allison questioned.

“What else is there to say? It’s the circle of life.”

Vanya was the first to get up and hug Y/n, “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too, Vanny. Me too.”

[dyns33]

The Devil’s Lawyer 17

Part 17 of Matt Murderdock x Nice Lawyer Reader. Part 16 here 

           "I could kill them all."

There was only Matt Murdock to very calmly and very seriously say this sentence as if it was perfectly normal, when he had just entered her hospital room, kissed her on the forehead and sat next to her. And there was certainly only Y/N to not be surprised at all by it.

Very well then.

           "What ? Who ?"

           "The Hand."

Oh. Uh ? Okay. They were therefore called the Hand. Okay. Great. That was a shitty name.

Normally Matt never mentioned them, and if he had to, he didn't name them.

It was the sign that he was really serious and that something bad was going on.

           "How many are they ?" she decided to ask.

           "Many. All over the world. Too many to count."

           "And you think you can kill them all ?"

           "Well, I could take care of the leaders. That could solve the problem. Or I can also kill all the assassins they send against me. I'm sure I can. And after a while, I'll have kill enough of them to scare them so they wouldn't dare come near New York. Then I'll really be the Kingpin and I will do whatever I want."

           "And what about finding a deal ?"

           "Darling. We don't make deals with the Hand. We obey or we die. They have already been very patient with me. Very tolerant. Because I am useful. You know that normally I should have killed you a long time ago, right ? Because even though you're not a big threat, you're terribly stubborn and smart, and you're gonna end up meddling in dangerous business.  And since money and threats don't work on you, they would have sent me to chop off your head. But you're mine. So they're all probably hoping that at some point I'm going to lock you up in my house, forbidding you to go out and continue to be a lawyer."

           "Which of course you will not do."

           "I'm thinking about it."

           "You won't." she said firmly.

           "No of course not."

           "Thank you."

           "Don't mention it, darling."

Matt used his tight smile, indicating that he was a bit tense.

All this was certainly due to what had happened last week, with the shooter, and at the trial.

Since they were both still alive, the Hand either didn't know that Matt had practically betrayed them, or they had decided to give him one last chance, knowing that he could guess what would happen if he was making another faux pas.

Even though she hadn't asked him anything, Y/N felt bad. It was her fault. She had promised Matt not to compromise him. Even though they had lost the case, it was obvious that Matt was in a very delicate situation now.

He couldn't leave the Hand. He was at their command, under their control. He did not have a choice. If he tried to flee, they would find him and they would make him pay.

And, even if he claimed to be capable of it, Y/N didn't think he could kill them all, or even scare them.

They were too many, and determined. They had weapons, experienced ninjas, and even magic.

           "They're not that mad at me." Matt muttered, guessing what she was thinking. "They understand why I acted like this. You are mine after all. It is normal that I did not appreciate that what is mine was touched. So they forgive me for this... bewilderment."

           "But not the next one. If there is a next one."

           "We could also leave."

           "I thought they were everywhere."

           "I meant in another universe. I just have to take Spider Woman's little machine."

           "They are also in the other universes."

           "Yeah, but I don't work for them here, so that won't be my problem. Imagine. We find an universe where Matt Murdock is dead. Run over by that truck, killed in an alley, buried under a building, whatever. I take his place and that's it !"

           "And my double ?" Y/N asked, not thinking it was possible at all, but finding the idea amusing. "Because a blind man who looks like a dead guy and a lawyer who looks like a girl who lives in the neighbourhood, plus having the same names, it's going to look suspicious."

           "I will make her go."

           "You're not going to kill my double !"

           "No, darling. I'll make sure she leaves. Because she'll have made a lot of money. Or she'll have gotten a job offer impossible to refused on the other side of the country. But I know you, so I know her, and she'll stay. Okay, so we're leaving New York then ! We can go anywhere we want ! Even in another country. I speak a lot of languages. We'll open our own law firm together ! We'll have a big house. A dog ? Do you want a dog ? I hate dogs. A cat. Cat it is. A great car, a maserati. I won't be able to drive it, but I like the sound of the engine and the smell of the leather seats."

           "It's true that it would be nice."

           "You say that like we're not going to do it, darling."

Oh shit, he was really serious ?

Y/N sighed. She would have loved to do all of this, with Matt. It was a beautiful dream.

But she couldn't leave everything like that, her family, her friends, her job. She would feel like she was running away, abandoning everyone, and it would kill her inside.

What if the Hand found out how they disappeared ? If they tried to follow them in the other universes ? It would put even more people at risk.

Y/N really couldn't do that. Like she couldn't ask Matt to stop being the Kingpin. The Devil. The assassin in the service of the Hand.

And she didn't want to leave him. It was obvious he didn't want to leave her either.

So they were in a dead end.

           "Maybe everything will be okay ? I mean, we can just wait and see, being ready. It was working fine before. I'm still being the good idiot, I'm trying to fight evil in court, and you don't help me, without killing me or locking me up. And sometimes I succeed, I win a lawsuit, on my own, and they're not happy, but that's alright ? Because it's just a trial and..."

           "Y/N."

           "I know that if I win several cases they won't be happy, and I'm not going to lose on purpose, that's for sure. But I also know that it's not going to change everything overnight. I just want to help people. The big projects of world conquest, it's not my area of ​​expertise. I take care of my clients, that's it. Well, not really it, I don't want magic ninjas ruling the world for sure, but what I mean is that I'm definitely not going to stop them by winning a few lawsuits in New York."

           "Y/N." he repeated in a tone she had never heard before.

And she realized that it was also the first time that Matt was saying her name.

Well maybe not ? Yes ? She couldn't remember. It would have stricken her. Maybe sometimes in bed, but she wasn't very focused during those times, he was good at driving her crazy.

           "Matt." she answered with equal seriousness. "I know. I get it. And I appreciate what you're trying to do. I… Do you really think you could kill them all ? Without getting killed I mean. Or getting sent to jail afterwards."

           "I would say I have a seventy-five percent chance of succeeding."

           "Hmm. And so a twenty-five percent chance of being captured, tortured and then murdered."

           "You are so pessimistic darling, you always see the glass half empty."

           "And scare them away ? Just like that ?  Do you really think that could work ? That's kind of what you do in... You could become Daredevil !"

           "... Who ?" Matt growled, pouting.

           "You know... I mean, you know."

           "We had a deal. You were never to talk about him again."

           "You were the one who talked about the other dimensions."

           "Dimensions with dead Matt Murdocks. What about "Daredevil" ? That's ridiculous. It's a stupid name. I already thought "Devil" was ridiculous, but that's too much."

           "Well, you'll come up with another name. But you get the idea ! He's been fighting them, and he seems to be doing pretty well at stopping them. Except he's got a little help. You need some allies ! Spider Woman might agree. And there are probably other people who don't like the Hand and would be strong enough to fight them."

During the rest of the evening, they imagined all the possibilities to succeed in completely defeating their enemies.

It was quite amusing and pleasant to put the world to rights. Matt would be the Kingpin, but a fair, less violent Kingpin who would use fear to bring peace. Y/N would be there to reframe him if he went off course and she would continue to fight the bad guys in court.

Matt could work with her. Oh, Foggy and Karen would hate that. Foggy would probably feel like he was going back to Law school and he would be afraid to run into Matt in the hallways.

There would still be tension, but Gwen would end up trusting Murderdock a little, and they could help each other more often, without having to threaten each other.

Yes, that would be really wonderful.

But it wouldn't be easy. Maybe it wasn't possible at all.

If Matt tried and failed, then they would both be dead.

Getting killed didn't scare Matt, but he didn't want anything to happen to Y/N. The Hand knew it, he knew the Hand knew it, and so he had to be careful.

For the moment, then, it would only be funny scenarios, fantasies, a beautiful dream. But they would often think about it, and Matt would plan things in the shadows, they would seek allies quietly, and one day he could take action, and he would offer his darling a safer and fairer world.

Not perfect, of course, but a little better.

A world in which he could do whatever he wanted.

And so do whatever she wanted.

           "Right now I want to get out of this hospital, I want to eat real food, go back to work, and I want my bed, with you in it."

           "That doesn't sound too difficult, darling. Except for the discharge, the doctor said not before the end of the week."

           "Maaaatt."

           "I could lie next to you, but this bed is small and the covers are cotton. I have no idea how you can sleep in this, I understand why you miss your bed."

           "Maaaatt. Lay down with me."

           "You are cruel, darling."

           "Now."

           "A wicked woman."

           "I want you to hold me. Please."

He would have accepted despite the 'please', but that's what made Matt sigh. He got up and came to settle on the bed, letting her snuggle up against him, while being careful with her wound.

Kissing her head, he cuddled her, massaging her back until she fell asleep, dreaming of the universe where they were happy and carefree.

One day, maybe.

[butwhyduh]

"There is only one bed" "Exes forced to work together" and "Accidentally cuddling in sleep" with homeboy Dickie please <3

There were certain members of the Titans who said Dick’s superpower was being friends with his exes. Not very many of them had ill feelings for him after breakup despite everything that happened in their relationship. You tried to be like them. Kori could laugh at his jokes while he dated Barbara. Zatanna would often give him an open mouth kiss when she saw him and yet had no interest in dating him again.

But you weren’t like that. You didn’t know how to act around him. Possibly because you didn’t exactly break up normally, or at all. He just disappeared. It had been for a mission but still. He could have called or talked to you afterwards. That’s why you were mad. It was inconsiderate, you thought as you ignored the tiny voice that told you that you couldn’t be normal around him because you still liked him.

And currently you were dying because you had teamed up with Dick on a mission. Both of your skill sets matched for the mission’s needs and so this is how you ended up at the front counter of a Swiss hotel high in the mountain trying to get 2 hotel rooms instead of one. Or even just another bed.

“Madame, I apologize but there is no other room at this hotel. We are very sorry for the mix up but this is all we have. The nearest hotel is 30 kilometers north so I have very little I can do. Again, I apologize,” said the man. “It is the busy season.”

You sighed. “That’s fine. I’m tired. It’ll be fine,” you said grabbing the keys a little rougher than necessary. Dick looked at the man apologetically before following you.

The hotel was actually really nice. Very traditional with red ornamental patterned rugs and golden brown beaded board halfway up the wall. A gold chandelier hung in the front entry. A bellboy carried your bags up to the room and let you in.

The room was just as nice but tiny. Barely had enough room for the bed and a small table with 2 chairs and a tv stand. A little closet sat behind door and the tiny window with covered in thick curtains.

You tossed your bag in the closet without a care and pulled off your shoes. You groaned and stretched your toes before flopping on the bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Dick said grabbing a pillow.

“No just get in bed. There isn’t enough floor to sleep on. It’ll kill your back to sleep weird,” you said with a yawn. Dick stood awkwardly. You hadn’t thought about it but you were probably his only awkward ex and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“You sure? I don’t wanna be in your space,” Dick said tentatively laying down the pillow. You patted the mattress.

“You could sleep in the room beside me and I think you’d still be in my face with how tiny these rooms are,” you said and he chuckled.

“Yeah, this hotel is probably like 500 years old or something,” he said laying down. He was on his edge of the bed and you on yours. “Did I ever tell you that we toured out here when I was a kid in the circus?”

You turned to look at him. “No you haven’t. What was it like?”

“It was cold but fun. My mom got mad when I tried to do flips barefoot in the snow,” he said with a laugh. “I was probably 6. She thought I was going to get deathly sick from the cold.”

“That sounds exactly like something a mom would say,” you said with a smile.

“I also remember one of the sword swallowers tried to learn the language to speak to all the pretty women that came to the shows but he learned Swedish instead,” Dick said and you both laughed.

“I bet that didn’t go well.”

“He got lucky and the first woman he talked to spoke Swedish! It was pretty funny,” Dick said with a yawn. “We should probably get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” you said and the pillow felt like heaven. Your eyelids felt heavy and before you knew it, you were asleep. Hours later you woke to light hitting your eyes through the curtains so you snuggled closer to get it out of your eyes. Arms that wrapped around you tightened a little and you felt a humming noise that threatened to put you back to sleep.

Hot breath against your cheek made you move again. This time you woke up to take in your surroundings. A collarbone. Arms around your back. Legs tangled in your own. You hadn’t taken anyone home last night. Who was that? You blinked before realizing that you were in Dick’s arms.

You pulled back a little and he whined in his sleep and held you tighter. His touch was warm and comforting and you almost wanted to be lulled back to sleep with him. But Dick wasn’t your boyfriend and you needed to move. You shifted again and he opened his eyes to look at you in surprise.

“Oh,” he said. You both froze. “Sorry,” Dick muttered before moving his hands away slowly. His didn’t scoot away from you.

You looked at him and the way he looked at you stopped you from moving. It was raw and unfiltered in the mornin light and he clearly wasn’t over you. He looked down at your lips before looking back at your eyes.

“Morning,” you said softly. You looked down as he licked his lips. They looked soft and shiny. You slid your hand to his arm. Almost painfully slow, Dick scooted closer to where your lips were almost touching. You inhaled a little faster than normal.

“Can I,” he said already hold his head slightly turned. You leaned up to meet his lips. Dick’s hands went back around to grip your waist. The kiss started out tentative but didn’t take long to deepen. He tasted the same as you remember and his touch was familiar and comforting.

After a little bit of you both laying on your sides, Dick laid back and pulled you on top of him. You straddled his hips and kissed him hard. Dick made a moan against your lips and gripped your thighs. You rubbed down against him. You could feel him grow hard in his thin sleep pants. Dick pulled back to breathe.

“Fuck baby,” he panted. You huffed out a laugh. “What?” He asked and you grinned.

“Still has the same weaknesses, I see,” you whispered and he chuckled before shrugging. You ground down on him and he inhaled quickly.

“Yeah but so do you,” he said before flipping you over and pinning your hands above your head. You gasped into a moan as he nipped at the spot behind your ear. Dick smirked against your skin. “Yep the same spot.”

“Hmmm using it against me,” you asked and he nodded.

“Always take advantage of weaknesses. That how I was taught,” Dick said. He bent and sucked hard on the spot and you pulled at his hands, wanting to put your hands in his hair. Dick kissed down your neck to your collar and nipped at your collarbone. You made a keening sound.

“Not fair Grayson, not fair,” you said breathlessly and he chuckled.

“I could always stop,” Dick said, his breath was hot on your skin. You groaned and he chuckled. Dick slid his hands under your shirt and pulled back to slide it off. His fingers traced a new scar that you had gotten since the last time you had been together.

“Two Face,” you commented and he nodded before kissing the arcing curvature of lighter skin. You pulled at his shirt and he pulled it off too. He had some more scars too. A pair of red healing marks on his forearm that looked like claws you touched with your thumb.

“Killer Croc,” he said before kissing the valley between your breasts. You hummed in agreement before realizing what he said.

“Killer Croc? You got very lucky,” you said and he pulled back a little.

“Yeah. I mean, it got mad infected and I was out for 2 weeks but yeah, he could have ripped my arm off,” Dick said. He ran his hand along the waistband of your sleep shorts. You inhaled quickly.

“You’re too casual for a man that almost died,” you said.

“Yeah, I know,” Dick answered sliding his hand in your shorts to play in your folds. Your eyes closed and you forgot all about scars and Killer Croc as he fingered you.

“Condoms?” You gasped. He grinned as he kissed along the column of your neck.

“One minute,” Dick said getting up. You watched him move around the room. His boner extremely obvious in his sleep pants. He came back with a few attached together.

“3?”

“Let’s start with one and go from there,” he smirked and you laughed. That was Dick for you. Cheeky no matter what. He pushed down his pants and rolled it on as you slid out of your panties and shorts. Dick stared down at your wet pussy. He already knew from fingering you but he certainly wasn’t complaining about the sight.

Dick climbed back over you and kissed you soundly. “Ready?” He asked and you nodded. Dick slowly thrust in and you made a soft sound. He started moving and found a good pace. It was great for missionary but it wasn’t like either of you didn’t have the ability to be a little more flexible in positions.

“I want to try something,” you whispered in his ear and he looked at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Go on,” Dick said excitedly. You pushed him off of you and he eagerly complied. You stood up and bent at the waist and wrapped your arms around the back of your knees with your legs closed giving Dick one hell of a show.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered. Dick moved behind you. “Like this?” He asked and you nodded. Dick slowly slid in with his hands on your hips making all kinds of little noises. “You look fucking amazing baby. Truly.”

You let Dick move for a while in this position. He alternated between holding your hips and grabbing your ass to slightly spread it to watch better. It was possible he’d never been that horny in his life. It felt amazing on your part but there was something you wanted to try without telling him.

You slowly moved your hands to the floor and put your weight on one leg. And with a smirk, you lifted one leg up and Dick inhaled deeply as you lifted it up to his shoulder. He held your leg and moaned loudly. His hips stopped and he was panting.

“Fuck, you almost made me cum right then,” he groaned. His hips started moving and all of took was a little shake of your ass for him to cum despite himself. “Fuck,” he groaned while burying himself deep. As soon as he was done, he pulled out and helped you stand up. You noted a little dusting of pink in his cheeks and ears.

“I’ll get you back. Lay down,” he said and you nodded and laid on the bed. It was no time at all that he had his lips wrapped around your clit and fingers in your core as your grabbed his hair in pleasure.

“Fuck! Dick! Fuck!” You cried, completely ignoring the fact that it was 7 am and you were in a hotel. He seemed to be hell bent on making up for the fact that he came first. Your thighs shook and you weren’t even sure but you probably screamed when you came. Dick peppered kisses up your body with a smirk as you heaved in breaths.

“Like that,” he said wryly, pulling you into his arms.

“You already know that,” you answered. He ran a finger along your arm and kissed your hair.

“So this...” he started but trailed off.

“Yeah...”

“Do you wanna... try again? Us?” He asked.

“Maybe,” you said biting your lip.

“Give it a shot?” He asked hopeful. You sat in silence for a second.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He said with a smile.

“Yeah,” you answered shyly. He grinned and kissed you again. He rolled on top of you.

“Since I fucked up the first round, I should make it up to you,” he said playfully. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“If. You. Can,” you whispered in his ear. By the end of the morning, the hotel security had come to knock on your door to quiet down.

[purrincesskittens]

Star Eyes, Zuko is mistaken as Water Tribe.

Gift for @muffinlance based off this post and this one

......................................................................

It was night when they found him. A quick examination showed blood on the back of his head. As they pounded on his back someone noted his eyes. “Gold eyes.” They called. “Are you fire nation?” The boy lifted his head and the light of the lantern caught his eyes reflecting back at them. “Of course I am.” The kid snarls. “Star Eyes.” Someone breathed. Shit this kid was one of theirs. “Could be the child of a war bride.” Was suggested by someone. “At least he’s not a fire bender.” There was a laugh that was quickly interrupted by the star eyed boy himself. “Yes I am.” “Well that was.... honest.” 

Star eyes were only something seen in the water tribes though. Even if this kid was a fire bender he had to be water tribe. More then likely the result of a woman stolen from her tribe during a raid and raised as Fire Nation since he looked enough of the part. But he was young, probably just recruited or practically forced into joining the military. There was a easy way to figure out how dangerous this kid was or rather how much more dangerous he was considering he was a fire bender. 

“Have you ever killed someone?” Hakoda asks crouching before the boy lifting his chin in one hand so the boy had to look him in the eye with those gold colored star eyes. “What? No ... I don’t think.... No.”  The kid seemed confused the blood on the back of his head suggested a head wound but this kid was young probably just assigned to a ship only to get knocked overboard by either by a storm or by another soldier. Those eyes probably didn’t make him popular or the fact that this kid’s eyes kept sliding away from Hakoda’s own suggested he may be a fey child. 

“What do we do with him?” Somebody asks as they watch the kid cough up water, curling and uncurling his fingers against the wood of the deck his eyes cast down. “We keep him for now. His mother is probably Water Tribe war bride if he is star eyed. Have Kustaa check him over and if he survives we figure out what to do from there." Hakoda announces to the crew. They took care of their own and until they figured out who his mother was and could turn him over to her family if she had any left the crew of the Akhult would take care of him for now. Half Water Tribe and the child of a war bride was still Water Tribe and like hell were they going to turn him over to the Fire Nation to continue using as a weapon.

Kustaa later informed him the boy had hypothermia as well as potentially severe head trauma it was hard to tell right now. The kid mistook him for his uncle. Which uncle they weren't sure. It's possible the boy's mother had a picture of her family she either managed to take with her or she drew herself or he could be thinking Kustaa was his father's brother. The escape attempts didn't help some of the crews opinions on keeping the kid but considering he was raised as Fire Nation and was in a strange place so its expected that he would try to escape although climbing the mast was something Hakoda really wished he didn't do along with scaling the side of the ship.

Kustaa had mentioned the boy called for his mother while delirious along with begging his father for forgiveness pledging his loyalty to him and pleading no to the man which didn't paint a pretty picture of the man or gain much favor of the fire nation in the crews opinions. "Tell me about your mother." Hakoda suggests sitting up on the mast beside the boy. Glowing gold eyes blinked at him. "I remember trailing robes. She favored long sleeved robes with delicate embroidery. She had long hair I remember her brushing mine when I was little. I would sit in her lap and she would brush my hair talking to me about theater or turtleducks or plants. Different things she liked. I think I would sometimes tell her about my day or what I had done recently I don't remember clearly its... faded almost. Fuzzy. I barely remember what she looked like."

Hakoda frowned the boy was water tribe he had to be with those star eyes of his but why wouldn't his mother tell him about her people, her home. Maybe she couldn't? Maybe the boys father was so controlling he made sure she never spoke of home to their son? Then the boy said something that made him rethink everything he knew about the kid. "Uncle said my hair is alot like hers. Or it was. I don't even remember why I shaved it." The kid frowned obviously struggling to remember rubbing his head with one hand. The head wound had left him confused he didn't rember his name or much of anything recent but he remembered he had been burned for cowardice supposedly or partially for that but what did the fire nation consider to be cowardly? Kustaa suspected the boy's own father burned him based off what they gleaned from fever dreams and night terrors.

“What did she look like?” Hakoda questions softly holding his breath hoping he was wrong with the hunch he had. “Elegant, beautiful, she had long straight black hair that was so soft and amber eyes with flecks of true gold in them she wore long sleeved red robes with elegant embroidery. The sleeves would bellow and she would hide me in them when I was little.” The boy continued to talk about his mother someone he remembered fondly although all the details suggested the hugs, the turtle duck kisses and every else stopped when the boy was small. Something happened to his mother and Hakoda was beginning to suspect it may have something to do with the boys true parentage. But how to suggest it to the kid without breaking the poor things mind? The whole crew already suspected he was spirit touched as the water tribe liked to call those who were different mentally the earth kingdom called them fey and not all of the earth kingdom where kind to them. 

“If I promise no one on this ship will hurt you and we won’t turn you over to the Earth Kingdom will you stop with the escape attempts?”Hakoda asks when the boy falls silent picking at the grain of the wood under his hands not meeting Hakoda’s eyes. The kid blinked up at him startled. “Okay.” Getting the kid down the mast was surprisingly easy after that and a few more rules were hashed out before the kid was sent to see Kustaa again and the crew was gathered. “The boy’s mother was fire nation. He remembers her more clearly then anything else.” This drew murmurs from the crew some wanted to toss him over board then since he wasn’t the child of a war bride. “But he’s star eyed he has to be Water Tribe.” Toklo says tilting his head in confusion. “Exactly. We know he seemed to have issues regarding his father and Kustaa suspects he may have been the one to burn the kid. I learned his mother also disappeared or may possibly have been killed when he was young.” This gained more murmurs from the crew. 

Panuk pulled in a sharp audible breath. He had figured out what Hakoda was getting at. “Does any one here know where they were about 16 to 17 years ago? If they were around the Earth Kingdom or the colonies anywhere?” Their chief had to ask if none of the men on this ship was the boys father he would have to send messages out to all the others in the fleet see if anyone remembered if maybe had met a pretty woman in the Earth Kingdom or in the colonies and spent a night with her. If the kids mother was Fire Nation and he was star eyed that meant his real father had to be Water Tribe. His mother had to have married or started a new relationship soon after and the boy looked fire nation enough to pass him off as her husband’s but the husband probably suspected what with the star eyes. There was silence followed by an uproar. “You can’t be serious?!” Aake shouted in outrage. “I’m not judging anyone but the boy is water tribe and with his mother gone we most definitely are not giving him back to the Fire Nation so we need to figure out whose he is. We take care of our own.” Hakoda soothed the crews ruffled feathers listening as the men scrambled to remember where they were and what they were doing all those years ago.

Slowly they managed to clear the majority of the crew those who couldn’t remember were left struggling valiantly to justify why they couldn’t possibly be the boys father while their youngest two crew members watched with glee obviously in the clear themselves due to their age. Once Kustaa cleared the boy Hakoda set him to work and had to add no breathing fire to the list of rules. Toklo and Panuk made friends with their newest crew member over laundry and the boy was very shouty about women’s work. And then the issue over the kid not having a name he remembered came up. Names like Siqinq, Kallik, Cupun, Tulok, Yuka and Tulugaq were tossed around. He is pretty sure they settled on Tulok simply because they already have a Tuluk and Toklo on board and that name is almost a combination of the two plus it had a star meaning behind it. The boy just wanted to fit in.

Reds were changed for Toklo’s blues and the boys hair shaved to regrow properly after Kustaa managed to break it to the kid that a real father wouldn’t abuse his son, biological or not. They picked up Bato who sympathized with them for wanting to keep the star eyed child, teach him his real culture, and find his real father but the kid was still a fire bender. A fire bender on a WOODEN SHIP!! The boy, Toluk looked like a kicked polar puppy being denied sleep in the hammock he was used to and his usual snacks when ever he wanted. They still had a lot of work cut out for them when the kid thought he would be killed over a bending accident because he didn’t fully remember he needed to mediate to control his fire. His memories were still patchy at best. So Hakoda ended up with his temporary foster star eyed child sitting in his cabin breathing with a lantern holding a dog.  

The kid liked sea prunes proving he was Water Tribe at heart. He was good at using his fire bending for non evil purposes even if he protested it. He proved he shouldn’t be left alone in port either by himself or with his friends. He gained a piercing, two rusted swords, a theater scroll and a cabbage? No one seems to know about the cabbage. He can cook as it’s proven despite how spicy his cooking is and nearly gets kidnapped by prostitutes. Sex workers were not on the list of people Hakoda thought he would have to fight for custody of Tulok with. He nearly gets himself kidnapped by a Earth Kingdom solider they are allied with who seemed sure their boy was then dead prince of the Fire Nation. Never mind that the prince was dead and their boy was star eyed. The solider was surprisingly unfazed by the heat of the kids cooking. He didn't end up kidnapped despite his best efforts.. The kid really needed to stop climbing the mast. “Prince Zuko?!” Hakoda’s kids seemed to also mistake Tulok for the dead prince. 

“That’s the Prince of the Fire Nation, dad he chased us all over and tried to capture the avatar numerous times. His sister did capture Aang.” His kids argued trying to convince him that their new foster brother was some evil prince. The kid in question for his part had more headaches then usual and just seemed more confused and angry. He remembered something. A little sister named LaLa. It takes a while but after watching their new brother and listening to the crew, “His name is Zuko, he is the prince of the Fire Nation, his father is Fire Lord Ozai does no one care about that?!” Sokka asks in outrage staring as the kid in question does laundry like its a perfectly normal thing for a prince to do. “His mother may be fire nation but his father sure isn’t.” Panuk comments dodging a wet shirt thrown by their resident fire bender.  This earned laughter and calls of “Good for her!!” And “She could do a lot better!” Followed by “At least a water tribesman would treat her right!!”. Sokka groaned in frustration and confusion. 

“Why is my nephew wearing blue, convinced Ozai isn’t his biological father and that he is water tribe?” General Iroh the Dragon of the West questions calmly. Tulok seemed to recognize Iroh and even called him Uncle and recognized some of the crew but he still didn’t have complete clear memories although his headaches grew worse until Kustaa told him it didn’t matter if he remembered or not he was water tribe and nothing was going to change that spirit touched or not. “He is star eyed you can’t possibly tell me the fire nation has star eyed kids that’s a water tribe thing only.” Iroh considered it briefly before dismissing it. His nephew looked similar to a young Ozai, so Ozai had to be his father even if he wasn’t much of one and his nephew deserved better then Ozai. But surely Ursa couldn’t have had an affair while married to Ozai it was impossible. Iroh tried to do the math off the top of his head of when Ursa and Ozai married vs when Zuko was born. “Look the obvious answer here is that the boys mom met with a Water Tribe beefcake and had a one night stand that lead to the boy. It’s the only thing that explains why his supposed father hated him so much and why he struggled with fire bending and is star eyed.” Bato explains grinning. “Beefcake?” Hakoda and Iroh question. 

Azula finds this all far to amusing. “That just means I’m the rightful heir after all. You can stay here with your little water tribe family and I can be the next Fire Lord after Uncle.” Somehow things get worked out that their star eyed fire bender’s fire nation sister will be staying with them along side her two scary friends and the kids supposed Uncle will become the next Fire Lord once they take down Ozai. The kid is still confused and there are still gaps in his memories but they aren’t giving him back now he is their’s and the fire nation can’t have him. They still call him Tulok since the fire nation does consider the sun to be a star after all. He seems to like it better then Zuko. He still does their laundry still wears beads in his braids in red, blue and one gold. In all that’s happened no one thought to alert the rest of the fleet about what they learned leaving them in for one heck of a surprise when they reach Chameleon Bay where the rest of the men from the fleet scramble to try to remember where they were sixteen-point-nine years ago.