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orangflowalober · 10 months ago

Text

Blessed-Cursed

Pairing: Park Sunghoon x Reader

Genre: regency au; isekai au; prince!sunghoon; princess!reader

Summary: Being Crown Princess sounds fun from a modern-day point of view, no? Wrong. Wrong on so many levels. Starting from the fact that you had fight with your hands and legs to do certain things all over to marriage. Yuck. So how do you suppose one acts when their biggest secret is revealed to someone who has the power to have you executed?

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: sharp objects - swords, arrows, daggers; marriage; mushy stuff; implications of hunting animals; death of a bear by reader's hand; let me know if I missed anything!

Series: Enhypen Regency AU

Pinterest board: <3

Spotify playlist (songs I listened to while writing / had in mind while writing) : <3

You didn’t want marriage.

You didn't want to rule beside another.

You wanted to be the Queen who married her nation.

…

What a dramatic way of saying that you wanted to be Elizabeth the First of this world.

Oh. Right. England doesn’t exist in this world. Or like… any other country that exists on planet Earth.

Anyway. Your name is Lim Anestasia of the Lim Kingdom. However… your real name… is y/n l/n.

You do not hail from this world and yet here you are, living in the shoes of a spoiled princess who could get anything she wanted.

Dying really do be a unique experience.

When you first opened your eyes in this body it was ten years old. You cried. You cried for so long. Women dressed in uniforms of what you assumed were maids rushed in to comfort you and help you stop crying. You couldn’t stop. You didn’t recognise anything or anyone. You don’t remember when was the last time you felt so alone. That only made you cry harder. It wasn’t until a woman with beautiful long brown hair and a worried look on her face came in, that you started to calm down even just a slight bit. After all… your brain recognised the woman as your dearest mother. You cried in her arms for a long time, but in the end… you felt so much better. Now you just pretend that day never happened.

You spent the next two weeks in a daze, looking about and recalling all the memories of your past and present life. Then you realised something. There was a whole mediaeval world out there for you to explore… yet you remain stuck within these walls of a cold and almost empty castle… So you set out back to your room and made a list.

As a Queen to be, there were some issues you wanted to settle. Making a list seemed like the right choice. You were ten now so no one would truly take you seriously and this was fine. It gave you time to plot and plan. But first… for the next few years you would indulge yourself and learn some sports you have had the wish to learn back in your day but hadn’t the opportunity to do so.

The list read:

1. Learn how to be a brilliant archer!

2. Learn the art of the sword!

3. Learn how to be a great horseback rider!

4. Teach yourself everything you can about the kingdom!

5. Start taking interest in politics!

6. Settle dominance so your parents don’t try to set you up at 14.

7. Steer clear of men in general

8. Try and turn away as many suitors as possible!

9. More to be added

Grinning to yourself you put away the stationary and folded the paper neatly. You would hide it in your room in one of the many books you owned.

“Mother. Father.” You greeted, approaching them in the throne room, curtsying in your pale green dress.

“Anastasia,” your mother greeted with a smile gracing her face, “What brings you here my precious daughter?”

“I wish to learn archery.”

The King looked horrified.

Archery wasn’t very lady-like after all. Or any kind of sport, really.

“My dear daughter-”

Welp, you thought, time to pull out the big guns.

You stomped your foot and sniffed.

“But Father!” you yelled through the tears, “I wish to learn archery and I wish to do it NOW!”

You sniffed again and softly glared at the man on the throne who looked to be panicking.

“Of course my dearest!” he responded quickly with a wobbly smile.

Well he switched up fast you thought.

“Really?” you switched up as well, deciding to play the role of a shy child, “thank you” you whispered softly, but loud enough for your parents to hear. You curtsied and left for the library where you would read up on the history of your country.

As you grew older, you learned more and more.

By the time you were fifteen you mastered the bow, horseback riding and were well into practice with the sword. Your “love” for studying never faltered and you kept at it relentlessly going through tutors at break-neck speed.

When you turned eighteen, you started getting involved in the rule of your land (with the help of your parents, naturally) and continuously impressed them with your knowledge and how mature and ambitious you were. You mastered the art of the sword and started practising with daggers. It seemed fun so far.

Other than all of these impressive achievements, you seemed to rather… lack… in the department of social relations.

Due to the fact that you spent a lot of time either with your nose in a book or practising with a new weapon you picked up, you haven’t had the time to make good acquaintances with the children of other royal families or nobles. At most you could say that you and the prince of the Kim Kingdom were close acquaintances. Sunoo was a rather interesting character whom you had not much trouble interacting with. You even occasionally exchanged letters.

Other than him there was princess Yeji of the Hwang Kingdom, but that was limited only to the balls you both attended.

As such, you haven’t had many suitors, which worried your parents and only served to make you happier.

While you were happy as things were, your parents unfortunately were rather persistent.

“My dearest daughter,” you heard your mother sigh for the nth time that month, as you readied your arrow, “you already turned of age years ago, you must at least look for potential suitors…”

You knocked the arrow. Bullseye.

“It is not my fault all of them are too afraid to even speak to me, mother.”

“What about Sunoo then?” she asked and this time you sighed, “How does he speak so freely with you?”

“You know as well as I do that, we do not speak freely with each other. And besides, we’ve known each other for years.”

“My darling Anastasia,” your mother sighed, taking your filthy hands into hers, “for your mother’s sake,” she whispered, “please, look for a fine suitor. I know that there must be someone who will catch your eye this time. Please my darling daughter.”

She knew you were weak to her pleading. Courtesy of your close bond both with your mother in your old life and this one. You agreed.

It was the first mistake you could have made.

You honestly didn’t mean to sound so full of yourself when you said that you were probably the best dressed person at the ball for your birthday.

Simplicity is what will most often catch the eye of others, is something you liked to think. This time was no exception.

The dress you wore was a light pink and it reflected the light due to its shiny material. It was long and flowy, which was brilliant because it meant you could move freely, and you didn’t have to wear petticoats. You honestly did love them, but they were, oh so, impractical. The dress had a sweetheart neckline with off the shoulder sleeves. It was tightened around your waist and made your chest look bigger than it actually was, but what annoyed you was that you had to breathe rather shallowly. From the waist down the skirt flowed freely and dramatically.

As they announced your name you walked into the ball with a slight smile and nodded at the present guests before you stepped down the staircase to join the party.

You've managed to stay at the party chatting with anyone and everyone who approached you for a whole hour before your social battery completely died out and you were seconds away from starting to behave like you used to, back home. In the modern world.

“Prince Sunoo,” you spoke to the boy next to you. “Would you mind if I made a quick escape to regain my composure?” you asked with a dazzling smile.

The chubby cheeked boy next to you giggled at how direct you were.

"Why of course, princess Anastasia” he purred with a playful grin, “I shall wait for you here!"

You nodded gratefully at him and swiftly made your way through the crowd and at the back entrance into the beautiful garden your mother loved most.

Sitting down on the grey store bench in front of the small lake filled with water lilies. At least they looked like water lilies.

Sighing, you then placed your fan down onto the seat next to you and reached behind your back to pull on the string which held the corset together and took a deep breath.

Time for my annual rant session, you thought to yourself.

"Marriage" you spat bitterly, allowing yourself to go nuts with anger.

“Why do I have to marry anyone?!? Why is that so bloody important?!" you yelled into the sky, throwing your hands into the air. “Do I have to marry to be Queen?! I mean come on!”

Getting lost in your emotions you failed to realise someone was standing at the entrance of the garden, listening to every word you spoke, slowly making their way towards you.

You groaned loudly as your voice took on a sad, desperate tone.

“Mom… I miss you so much…” you sobbed, “I miss my little sister too… that annoying little stinker…” you sobbed even louder, taking your gloves off to wipe your tears away.

“I miss those stupid gatcha games too” you laughed wetly, “Cookie Run… Genshin… Honkai… both Honkai games actually…” you mumbled the last bit, picking at your freshly manicured nails.

“Why me?” you whispered, sniffing a little.

A crunch of leaves caused you to turn around from your spot on the bench, eyes wide as you faced the intruder.

The man who stood in front of you was possibly the most beautiful man you had ever seen and you knew absolutely nothing about him.

His jet black hair was in rough contrast with his pale complexion. He wore a dark blue waistcoat with golden accents and pure white pants along with knee-deep boots.

His eyes and face was what held your attention at most.

He seemed not to mind your current state, but rather… he looked worried.

You two kept looking at each other, too startled to speak.

Then you remembered what you looked like; mussed hair, undone corset, puffy face and runny nose and you weren't wearing your gloves.

“Are you alright?” he finally spoke, his rumbling and melodic voice sounding genuinely concerned about your wellbeing, extending his hand towards you.

Quickly, you scrambled to stand up, pushing your hand against your corset to keep it in place and responded to him.

“How much did you hear?”

He blinked confused, his hand stopping in its tracks.

“Pardon?”

“I asked;” your voice was high with panic now, “how much of that did you hear?” you felt as though your heart was about to beat out of your chest.

“Is that really that important right now?” a seemingly sly smile played on his lips, his hand gently taking hold of your wrist.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as you made eye contact with him.

It wasn’t simply because you felt attracted to him. On the contrary, attractive men didn't seem to make your heart skip a beat in this life. It was simple enough really; you were scared.

If he was influential enough, could he get you thrown out of the family? Would you lose everything? Again? Your heart wouldn't be able to stand that.

“P… p-please” you cussed yourself silently for stuttering, while a smile grew on his lips at your mistake, “don't… don't tell anyone!”

You yanked your hand out of his gentle hold and ran back into the castle ignoring his stare and completely forgetting about your gloves sitting on the bench.

After you had made sure you were presentable you went back to the ball room only to see that it was only just now in full swing. You took a deep breath and set off to find Sunoo.

“Princess Anastasia!” you heard someone call.

Turning around, you were met with the smiley face of the Crown Prince of the Park Kingdom.

“Prince Jay” you curtsied, extending your hand for him to take, “it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

The tall, blond man grinned as he pressed a kiss to your gloved hand.

“As it is mine Princess.”

Park “Jay” Jongseong. The Crown Prince of the Park Kingdom. He was smart, cunning and straightforward. That was not mentioning how kind and generous he was. Last you heard he was to be married soon before he assumed the throne of the Park Kingdom.

Again with the whole marriage thing…

“I must admit Princess, I only came to introduce myself and wish you a happy birthday with ulterior motives.” he smiled sheepishly.

“Oh?” you grinned playfully, resting your fan on your bare shoulder.

“I am afraid so” Jay laughed, “You see my brother is rather… shy.” he admitted awkwardly and continued, “But he really wanted to wish you a happy birthday, so I thought I would help him out.”

You smiled with soft eyes.

Jay had a younger brother. Well. “Younger” brother.

The circumstances regarding the two were rather unclear as it was never disclosed into the public eye, but the two had such a close bond it felt awful to speculate just about anything. And so, no one ever pried. The two brothers were, after all, the pride and joy of the Park Kingdom.

“How very nice of you” you hummed thinking of your younger sister in your past life.

“I do try” he smiled gently, noticing your reaction.

“Princess Anastasia,” you heard someone behind you.

As you turned around, your eyes widened scarily wide as you made eye contact with the man from the garden.

“I am Prince Sunghoon” he introduced himself with a slight bow of his head, his hand resting against where his heart was.

Lagging behind, you quickly curtsied and offered him your hand.

He took it gently, impossibility so, and pressed a feather light kiss against your knuckles, never breaking eye contact with you.

Jay, noticing what was going on, made a quiet escape leaving the two of you alone.

You were too scared and entranced with the man in front of you to notice anything.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess.” he spoke slowly, still not letting go of your hand, but you haven’t noticed that yet.

“Likewise” you awkwardly smiled, your heart beating out of your chest in fear.

Sunghoon's eyes glinted in mischief, which caused you to shift under his piercing gaze uncomfortably.

The music which was playing in the background slowly came to a stop and the man in front of you smiled as he turned to face you.

“May I have this dance, Princess?” he asked, lifting your hand higher in the air.

Meanwhile, your brain was an absolute mess. You had no idea what was going on, what this man was plotting or what he could do if you even looked at him wrong.

He currently has the potential to have you sent away.

You couldn’t take that chance.

“Yes,” you spoke slowly, “you may.”

With a bright smile, the tall man led you over to the dance floor.

All eyes were on you as for the first time ever, you joined someone other than your father for a dance.

You were anxious and terrified.

The man opposite you stopped somewhere off the centre of the dancing area and faced you properly.

His gentle smile was throwing you off track and you couldn’t focus on anything but trying not to tick him off.

Letting go of your hand, he placed it on your waist and took your other hand, while you placed a hand on his shoulder.

His giddiness at your action didn’t miss you and it made you nervous.

“Why do you look so nervous, Princess?” he asked with a grin.

Offering him an awkward smile you responded.

“Ah, no! It’s just…” you began as the music started and Sunghoon gently pulled you into a slow waltz.

“I’ve never danced like this with anyone but my father…”

The dark haired man nodded thoughtfully.

“My mistake,” he smiled, twirling you with a mesmerising smile on his face. “I thought it had something to do with our fateful meeting in the garden.”

Had you not returned back into his arms, you are sure you would have fainted.

“Speaking of which,” he continued as if he hadn’t noticed your discomfort, “you left something back there.”

You looked up at him with panicked eyes, not noticing his blush as he recounted the events.

If he says something to someone I’m doomed! You panicked. What did I even leave?!

“I took the liberty of taking them so I could hand them to you now” he spoke, as if your whole world hasn’t turned upside down.

Plural?! You wanted to scream.

“Them?” you couldn’t help but voice.

“Yes…” he hummed bashfully, as he leaned down to whisper into your ear, “You left your gloves behind Princess…”

Cold sweat broke out all over as you remembered what that means in this world.

Much like that one scene in Jane Austen’s book "Pride and Prejudice" with Mr. Darcy and Ms. Elizabeth, touching a lady without her gloves presented an extremely intimate act in this world.

You cussed internally.

At this point, you weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry.

“I will leave them in the corridor once the crowds dissipate” He continued, not minding the eyes which were trained on your forms, “You just make sure your maids find them.”

Oh, so, conveniently, the song and dance ended and Sunghoon disappeared into the crowd just as quickly as he had appeared, but not before placing another kiss on the back of your hand.

You liked to think what had happened during your birthday hasn’t affected you.

That is a lie.

It has.

You just pretend it didn’t.

After the dance, your mother sent you questioning glances, but you avoided them like the plague until she stopped.

There was another issue, however.

You suddenly began noticing him. And he was everywhere.

A birthday celebration of a noble? He was there.

A charity event for the children of the Lim-Kim region? He was there.

Tournament competition in arts and such? He was bloody there.

And if he could manage to sneak in a dance he would. Every. Single. Time.

At this point, the only time you didn’t see him is when you were avoiding everyone and camping out in the library or in your room.

As summer passed and made way for fall, the Lim Kingdom started preparing for the bi-annual Huntsmen Competition.

The bi-annual Huntsmen Competition was held by the Crown for the nobles and other royals of the lands to show off their skills and gain public favour.

A problem has risen this year though…

“We cannot hold the Competition in the Twilight Forest this year” the King announced. “The animal sources are scarce and we risk endangering the ecosystem if we continue to hunt there.”

After much begging and tantrums, he had finally let you participate in these talks. And in the competition, of course.

I'm going to wipe the floor with those losers, you cackled internally, before focusing back onto the conversation at hand.

“... so in line with that I would recommend the Fiery Forest in the south.” one of the older councilmen huffed out.

"That wouldn't be a smart decision" you hummed in reply, looking at the map, "I propose we request the Kim Kingdom to collaborate using the Spring forests we share at our borders. Our relations are better and they won't try to use this to their advantage.”

Your father and everyone else at the table looked lost for words, before turning to the map in front of them.

“My god, she’s right!”

“Who would have thought?”

Briefly, you saw your father's proud expression as you participated in the conversation even more than before.

Being fashionably late is probably your favourite thing to do in this world. And as the Crown Princess, no one had the right to comment on it.

You strutted toward your tent feeling eyes on your figure.

Why wouldn't they be staring at you anyway?

You were wearing mens attire.

The pants you wore were fitted and black, squeezing around your waist. Tucked into the pants was your favourite flowy white shirt and hanging off your hips was a majestic bastard sword. That was not to mention your favourite bow waiting for you in your tent.

As soon as it was time to set off into the forest, you took the reins of your black horse Stormy and got going when you heard the sound of the horn.

Riding on the back of the horse, you fired arrows, as soon as you caught sight of a moving hide.

By the end of it, you weren’t the best, but you were third best.

You also couldn't help but notice how Prince Sunghoon smiled the brightest when you approached the third place podium.

That was your second mistake.

The last time you were in a daze was when you were ten. It's been so long since then that you've forgotten just how easily the feeling creeps up on you.

“Princess Anastasia,” his gentle voice shook you out of your reverie, “It's delightful to see you again.”

You didn’t turn to face him, choosing to only lift your fan up to your face.

“Likewise” you quickly responded, finding that this time you didn’t quite find his mere presence bothersome.

The man hurried to walk in step with you.

“Princess,” he called and the title suddenly felt a lot more like a term of endearment from your past life, “you always say that, yet I feel as though you do not mean it as truthfully as I do.”

You kept quiet, wondering how you could even respond to such a claim.

“You enjoy nature I presume?” he quickly changed the subject. “It seems that every time you and I see each other it is in the gardens.” he smiled softly.

You were currently taking a break from all of the hard work you were putting into studying and practising.

As a little treat, you thought you could visit one of the more popular gardens in the Kingdom of Lee. They were, after all, most popular for their wide arrangement of flora.

And these flowers and plants never ceased to take your breath away and heal your eyes at the same time.

“Oh… yes, I suppose I do…” you hummed, “It’s rather… calming. I feel at ease to think and the colours soothe my eyes.”

The beautiful man next to you nodded and hummed, looking at you as if encouraging you to speak more.

“You see, I do enjoy reading all the books our library has to offer, but my eyes do hurt after spending too much time in my study…”

“You have your own study?” he asked with an intrigued spark in his eyes.

When you looked at him, you were taken aback by the sheer boyishness radiating from that expression, that you felt the back of your neck heat up.

“I-” you stuttered, “I do. I mean-” you turned away from him swiftly to catch yourself, “As the future Queen, I must ready myself for the incoming troubles of ruling the Kingdom and be a respectable ruler.” you explained.

His head cocked to the side, almost reminiscent of a pupper.

“You do not plan on sharing those burdens with anyone?”

You eyed him.

“You mean marriage?” you spat out the last word venomously. “I will refuse it for as long as I can. Besides,” you huffed, forgetting yourself, “it’s not like I met anyone worthy of marrying me.” you crossed your arms over your chest.

A snort sounded from next to you and you turned startled towards Prince Sunghoon. He held his hand up to his mouth, eyes wrinkled into crescents and he was slightly turned away from you.

“I-” he laughed lightly, his face twisted to make room for his wide smile, “I do not mean to laugh at your- It is only- the delivery-” he kept giggling, unable to finish a single thought.

You only stared at him in awe, your opinion of him changing subconsciously.

“You Highness, Prince Sunghoon,” a butler called from behind you, “Your brother has requested your presence back in the castle.”

“I will be right there Ian,” he said, before turning to look at you, with an impossibly tender look in his eye, “I hope we see each other like this again” he spoke as he took your hand to place a kiss on it, “I had a great time and I hope you did too.”

And then he left.

It felt like a part of you left as well.

You have found yourself caught up in Prince Sunghoon’s- or rather, as he insists- Sunghoon’s arms, interlocked into the second dance of tonight.

The ball was a celebration of the spring solstice.

How you ended up in the dark-haired prince’s arms you also couldn’t quite remember.

You also didn’t realise just how funny he was whenever he talked back and you never realised your love for bickering.

You were having the time of your life.

People were sending you odd looks, seeing you enjoying yourself with the second Park son, seeing as you only ever spent time with the youngest Kim prince and even that was reserved.

But now, you were giggling, laughing and you just couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

Another plus to having Sunghoon’s company: no one was approaching you for mindless small-talk and mentions of marriage.

The Lee castle was beautiful but…

“I heard the Lee’s have the most beautiful garden…” Sunghoon told you with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

He didn’t have to finish his thought. You already knew what he meant as he extended to you and you accepted it without another word.

Your baby blue dress fluttered behind you as you walked down the halls with Sunghoon, both of your shoes clacking against the marble flooring.

The dress had a deep V-neck and the sleeves extended past your hands, although it added to the snowy princess look.

This time, the maids took extra precaution to cinch your corset and if you couldn’t breathe then, you certainly couldn’t now that you saw the garden.

The snow had freshly melted and there were faint traces of buds all over the trees and plants.

But most of all the night sky seemed to take the cake.

“The moon looks beautiful tonight, doesn’t it?”

You turned towards the man who had made your night.

Sunghoon was not looking at the moon. His eyes looked as if someone had stolen all the affection in the world and put it in his eyes.

He looked beautiful being bathed in the moonlight. His pale shin was seemingly illuminated by the moonshine, a perfect contrast to his all-black attire.

“My…” you began, your head feeling as if it was stuffed full of cotton, “My real name is y/n.” you spoke before you could realise what you just said.

He looked stunned.

Then his hold on your hand tightened as suddenly words started tumbling out, past his soft lips, explaining his predicament in his family and his relationship with them.

He looked so vulnerable. You thought you looked the same way as well.

You pulled your hand back, out of his gentle hold, and he looked as if you had ripped his heart out of his chest. You merely pulled your gloves off, threw them somewhere behind you (which had pulled out a choked laugh from him) and you raised your arms to wipe the tears from his glass-like face.

He shuddered feeling your skin on his face and you shivered feeling his breath against your hands.

“I’m sorry” he let out as he enveloped you in a passionate embrace.

This, after all, was not appropriate for two people who weren’t engaged to be married.

The bi-annual Huntsmen Competition in the spring was, oddly enough, the most anticipated event of the season.

You supposed it had something to do with your appearance.

Hence, you practising day and night, night and day, to attempt to get the first place this time around.

Also, you knew Sunghoon was participating in this event and you want to impress him-

Ah right.

It is too early for the list of participants to have some out, so… how do you know?

Truth is, Sunghoon himself told you.

A development which had happened since the Spring Solstice Ball was that you and Sunghoon had started exchanging letters with what was going on in your lives lately.

It made you unnecessarily giddy and you couldn’t hide this from your nosy mother who realised you were getting letters every other day as opposed to once every two to three months.

She was, needless to say, thrilled.

But that wasn’t important right now.

What was important was winning the competition to impress Sunghoon- no y/n stop.

This time around, the senators decided to change things up a little: they added an animal which automatically secures the huntsman first place. The animal in question is a grizzly bear. Yeah. A grizzly. It surprised you too.

You were hoping to catch the biggest fish.

Also, this time you planned on showing up in a proper fancy riding outfit, fit to a prince.

You were rather petty like that. And your ass looked brilliant in those pants.

You seriously didn’t have enough opportunities to wear trousers.

Arriving late, you hopped off your inky black horse, feeling eyes on your form once again.

You wore tight white pants with a sporty waistcoat with gold and dark blue accents. And you felt magnificent holding your sword at your hip.

Subconsciously, your eyes wandered, looking for a particular someone, but you couldn’t see him. A frown tugged at your lips, but you quickly stopped it and smiled as you usually would, making your way to your tent to get ready.

By the time you had gone into the forest you still didn’t get to see a particular someone’s endearing smile and dimples.

Hunting brought you more peace than you thought it could. You languidly shot at moving animals - birds mostly- and looked for the grizzly.

Why draw something out for longer than it should be?

You were lost in your own head when you heard a scream.

Quickly you turned your horse around and towards the scream.

You were surprised, however, when you ran into Sungoon, appearance dishevelled, leaves and small sticks stuck in his hair and clothes, horse gone.

Looking him in the eye, you saw him breathing heavily, eyes wide in fear, before he flinched at the loud roar the bear behind him let out.

Before you could even realise what had happened, you drew your bow and knocked four arrows at the bear and it fell over with a cry.

You and Sunghoon though, just gazed at each other. He stared at you as if you had just promised him the world, and you, from your position on your horse, bow still in hand, looked at him as if he had just told you the secrets of the whole world.

You were startled from your romantic gazing when a horn sounded, both of you looking in the direction of the trees.

“Marry me” you said before you thought better of it.

To say that this bi-annual Huntsmen Competition had the best ending party yet, would be an understatement.

Everyone danced and drank as you happily held hands with Sunghoon, right in the centre of everything, celebrating what would be the best event of this life yet.

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

My dearest girls: @ch3rryc0smos & @janaicetea

if anyone wants to be a part of the taglist send an ask <3

#park sunghoon #sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x you #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x you #regency au #Enhypen Regency AU #❄️.works.#❄️.fics.

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gumnut-logic · 6 months ago

Text

Lego Volcano (Part 3)

Alexander Sweetapple series | Lego Volcano - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Oh, look, there's more! I'm half vegetable, and this hasn't been read through by anyone but me, so don't expect much, but there is more :D

This one was sparked by @idontknowreallywhy, @sofasurf, @womble1 and @sailing-on-a-puddle and other wonderful Thunderfam peeps.

Many, many thanks to all of you who have read and supported this series of fics. You are all amazingly kind to me. And honestly, without you guys, there would be no Alexander Sweetapple ::hugs the lot of you::

I hope you enjoy this little bit.

-o-o-o-

Gordon found Scott in his office.

The fact his brother was in this rarely used space and not in the comms room was a clear sign of just how messed up Scott was about the situation.

“What do you want, Gordon?” His brother did not even bother to look up.

Gordon let his shoulder drop against the door frame. “Alex is deployed and Thunderbird Two is finally resting.”

“Alex is not a piece of equipment.”

“Works like one. Has a defined use and can be applied as necessary.”

Scott looked up at Gordon, his blue eyes both tired and vibrant at the same time. “Your point?”

Gordon sighed and stepped into the room, absently shutting the door behind him before dropping himself into a chair. “Scooter, it was going to happen sometime.”

Those commanding eyebrows narrowed on him. “What exactly?”

“Well, when boy meets boy…”

“Gordon.” Scott looked back down at whatever he was doing.

“…when boy meets boy, his…needs change.”

His brother ignored him, fixating his glare on whatever poor Tracy Industries department was being sacrificed to his mood.

Gordon held back another sigh. “Scott, you can’t be everything for everyone.”

Still Scott didn’t look up, but Gordon could see his reaction. But only because he knew his big brother so well. Not as well as Virgil, but he would have to do.

“He still loves you.”

That did it. “I know that.”

“Alex is going to butt in on your turf, it is inevitable. Virgil needs to live his own life.”

Blue blazed at him. “I know that, too. What do you take me for? I’m happy for him. We all are.”

Gordon pressed his lips together. “Yes, we are.” He stared at his loving big brother.

Gordon had been watching him over the past few months. Scott had been ecstatic that Virgil had finally found someone. He had encouraged, even plotted at times to make sure Alex and Virgil had time together and there were as many obstacles obliterated as possible, damn the ramifications.

Scott would do anything for his brothers.

But recently the result had come home to roost. There was only so much time in the day, and while Virgil used to spend the majority of it with his family, now Alex was cutting into that.

And time with Scott was part of the sacrifice.

Gordon was ever aware of the bond that existed between his two eldest brothers. It was so strong it sometimes breached the supernatural with that ability of theirs to speak to each other without speaking. The way they worked and supported each other was a symbiosis of the two men.

But now there were three, and Alex, whether he knew it or not, had become part of that equation.

And the sums were no longer solving to the perfect numbers Scott was used to.

“Gordon, I have work to do.” His tone was so tired.

“When do you not?”

Scott looked up, sharp. “What do you mean by that?” There was an edge in his voice.

Gordon groaned. “You know that’s not what I meant. You do us proud on a daily basis. You look after all of us.” He let out a breath, knowing he was about to waste a whole lot more. “You need time for you.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“I disagree.”

It was Scott’s turn to groan. “Gordon-“

“You deserve happiness as much as any of us, Scott. Please don’t forget that.” To make sure he had the last word, he stood up, and strode out of his brother’s office.

And tried not to grind the enamel off his teeth.

It turned out that he definitely needed to save up some teeth to grind, because three days later, in true solidarity with his eldest younger brother, Scott collapsed with a fever.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #gordon tracy #scott tracy #alexander sweetapple #nuttyfic

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happilylovingchaos · 3 months ago

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911 Lone Star Countdown - Disasters Week Questions

Hello and thank you for including me @lonestar-s5countdown! This is a little trickier for me to answer tbh. I think 9-1-1 might stand to have longer-lasting consequences from their natural disasters (no need to skip past tsunami wreckage recovery or months-long rebuilding of the highway collapse, those would make some meaty dramatic narrative arcs), but otherwise it so far edges out Lone Star when it comes to order of experience (like, which state got which disaster first).

1) My favorite disaster… okay, gonna have to divvy btwn the 9-1-1s for this!

The plane crash in 9-1-1 (OG) would probably be my underrated favorite in terms of narrative developments for Buck, Bobby and Abby.

Season 4’s heat wave was more glossed over for plot setup, but I didn’t mind this natural disaster precisely because it was a little smaller in scale and because the plot setups (even the Iris arc tho that definitely needed fine tuning in hindsight) hooked me in already. (I also didn’t mind Brianna and Caleb in this one b/c this time Caleb’s situation was not his own fault.)

2) Since they’ve already done tornadoes (though, there’s always a chance they’ll do those again), a volcanic eruption, wildfires and a winter storm, I would think the only disasters LS hasn’t gotten down yet are freeway collapses, floods (barring how the cast would look while soaking wet, don’t ignore areas like Galveston, writers! There’s WAY more to the state than farmland, Dallas, Austin and El Paso yk! Let’s just say before I digress I kinda wish the showrunners were able to film in actual Texas), a border skirmish (just out of genuine interest— not getting any more political and no Owen’s refugee rescue doesn’t count) or droughts/ water shortages (no, heat waves also don’t count). I also just realized that the domestic terrorist arc could have waited for a later season too! O’Brien and Owen had chaotic good vibes much akin to him and Billy Tyson (if the three of them worked together tho? The 126 should probably move their whole firefighter team out of Travis County b/c they ain’t gonna go through the second-hand pain again).

3) They had and lost me at meteor/ asteroid, so I’m not sure I’d say looking forward to it. It all depends on execution, I suppose? (Sorry for the question mark, I’m just baffled since that usually needs film-length amount of time— I’ve seen the film Deep Impact. Scientific nitpicks aside the investigations, action and future implications in that film were well-paced enough.)

4) My top 3? Judd b/c he’s a great all-around leader whenever shit hits the fan— honest (sometimes to a fault but I can kinda relate), strong integrity and conscientiousness, and so dad-like even before he became a dad. Mateo b/c he’d be like the underrated badass youngest brother of any group— speaking as an only child tho. Third… boy, I can’t break this tie. It’s a draw between Tommy (she’s very composed and professional even during the times she isn’t) and Paul (I’d like to learn memorization-observational skills from him, and he fits the “cool Zen mode” temperament a little better than Carlos, don’t @ me).

5) This is painful… okay I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can answer this one as of now.

Tagging next: @lutavero @reyesstrand @toomanycupsoftea @fitzherbertssmolder @marjansmarwani @trkstrnd

#911 lone star #natural disasters #technological disasters #maritime disasters #climate disaster #oh my #disasters week #911 lone star season 5 countdown #judd ryder #paul strickland #mateo chavez

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astxrwar · 1 year ago

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ties that bind [5/x]

SUMMARY: Quentin Beck– your old college biology professor– is still a bastard. Apparently, you’re kind of in to that.

RATING: M

WORD COUNT: 7k+

CONTENT + WARNINGS: Emotional manipulation (a given,,,). The general vibes associated with that. Sex scene will be chapter 6 because it got too long, this one is just plot and developing the AU + character. I take liberties with RC because you kinda have to in long-form works; if you're an experienced cook no you're not and if you're allergic to sesame seeds no you're not.

If you're still reading this series we're married now btw. love u babes, mwah.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | [PART 5]

Beck says nothing else between the car and the elevator, nothing as he presses the only slightly-tarnished silver button for the third floor, still nothing as the doors glide open and nothing when they close, either. The silence begins to coalesce like its own entity, something that pulses and breathes, alive, expanding to fill the rest of the too-small space of the elevator car; something he is, of course, unaffected by. Whatever tension is building inside of you feels precarious, uncontrolled, like a shaken-up can of coke in the seconds before an unsuspecting hand cracks the tab open, an unchecked ignition system with the fuse dwindled all the way down to nothing but a fine powder of ash, the silence before something explodes, because it has to, pressure building too high for too long, until there’s no other recourse or hope for respite. It’s nerves, and you know that, the feeling, but it’s not like anything you’ve ever felt before, better and worse and more, now, in ways that you still can’t fully comprehend or explain.

Beck studies you wordlessly from the opposite side of the elevator car as it moves upwards, the motion so fluid that if it weren’t for a small digital panel above the door, the floor numbers ticking by in glowing fluorescent red, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was even moving at all.

“Have you eaten?” He asks, cutting clean through that silence. It calms whatever tumultuous thing is coiling in your belly, even if only temporarily, the mundanity of the question striking and strange enough to draw your attention away from it for the moment.

“No,” you answer, quieter than you’d meant to, eyes flitting up to meet his and then glancing away again of their own accord, skittering back to the panel with the glowing red two now displayed and then to the doors, gleaming and reflective, the carpet, brand-new, only faintly discolored along the common path into and out of the car, a dappled pattern of overlapping shoe prints beginning to wear into it there. “I have my wallet, we can order something, if you want—“

Beck makes a sound; not a laugh, more just a particularly harsh exhale, dismissive and uninterested. “I’m making dinner, you can get yourself whatever you’d like if you won’t eat real food.”

The display panel ticks over to three and the doors slide open, a pleasant, bell-like chime announcing the stop; you follow him out into a carpeted hallway that’s painted a bland shade of steel blue and lined with wall-mounted lamps, like a hotel. There are windows on one side, spaced evenly down the length of the wall, and from this height you can see past the lines of barren, skeletal trees, the lights of cars as they trawl like beetles along the winding length of the road in the distance.

“What do you think I usually eat, then, if I don’t eat ‘real food’ ,” you say, instead of any of the other things that you’re thinking about— your nerves, still, trembling like the wings of a bird in the hollow of your throat, or the strangeness of him offering you dinner, or the entirely predictable way he can make that, even, sound like it’s a dig at your expense.

“Takeout,” Beck answers pointedly, mouth twitching up at the corners; you’ve arrived at his door, the numbers 34 pasted in neat silver leaf below the rounded inset glass of the peek-hole, reflective and glinting in the light from the hallway, and as he rummages in the pockets of his coat for his key and slots it into the lock you can hear your own pulse thrumming loud in your ears. “Frozen pizza, boxed mac and cheese, microwave ramen, anything they sell at the dollar store,” it clicks, and the door handle turns, and he looks at you, grinning in earnest now, “Hot pockets, probably.”

“Oh my god,” is all you can really say to that— because, yeah, he’s described to a T the off-campus-student-with-no-meal-plan diet, and you’re not even really any good at lying to him even when you’re not feeling some dubious combination of off-balance and dangerously out of your depth, so you decide that you’re better off not even trying. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

“I’m actually not trying to be, this time,” he replies, amused, as he pushes the door open and moves into the darkened foyer, hand sliding along the wall until he finds the switch and the hall is illuminated by the artificially-white glow of the ceiling light. “I was also a grad student once; I do still remember it.”

As you pass the threshold and press the door closed behind you, he follows with, “Take off your shoes.”

You do, stepping on the heels of your well-worn sneakers to slide them off, one foot, and then the next, stacking them in the tray by the door next to his impeccably-clean and perfectly-polished black oxfords. There’s another set of sneakers there, too, much nicer and much newer than yours, and a pair of thick-treaded black winter boots, the laces wound up together in a neat little ring, tied off to keep them from unraveling, tucked in behind the tongues of the shoes.

Ahead of you, Beck has moved further into the apartment; he sheds his coat and hangs it in a small closet at the end of the hallway, his laptop bag, too, and gestures for you to do the same with your backpack. There are other doors, one on each side of the hall, and you wonder briefly what might lay beyond them as you trail behind him, your footsteps muted and the hardwood floor cool through the relatively thin barrier of your socks.

He flicks on another set of lights, brightening the kitchen enough for you to see the whole of it; a high ceiling and low-hanging light fixtures and clean granite countertops, the two-section sink and drying rack both empty of dishes, a keurig machine and a toaster and a blender and other assorted appliances all pushed back against the wall, spotless and free of dust. His apartment looks like a showroom, like some sort of facsimile edition of a place where real breathing people live, and you mean to say that to him in a way that you intend to be insulting, but you find when you go to speak that your mouth is dry and your tongue is uncooperative and the words don’t even arrange themselves correctly inside your head, anyways. All of this feels suddenly very real, the cool stone countertop when you press your fingers against it, the faint draft of air moving through his apartment, drawn from the windows lining one side of the wall– and his eyes on you, something you can feel without even having to look at him, like a warm, solid weight on your shoulders.

Behind you, you hear the sound of some door pulling open, the rush of colder air against your back; the fridge, probably.

“What are you making?” you say without turning, suppressing that nervous tension, forcing it down inside of you as deep as it will go.

“Nothing complicated,” he replies. “Stir fry. Probably one of the easiest things, actually, if you ever decide to stop eating garbage.”

“Didn’t we just establish you also ate like shit during grad school?” You do turn, at that, so that he can see your face when you pointedly roll your eyes. “Besides, I just– I don’t really have time to cook. Or the energy, honestly.”

“Cooking doesn’t take much time or energy, that’s a poor excuse,” he replies, and you’re halfway through formulating a more-than-slightly-defensive response when he continues, “Learning to cook takes time and energy. You don’t have time or energy to learn , right now.”

The abrupt transition from what you’d assumed would be another insult to a gentle and even understanding correction– it makes something inside of you lurch like the feeling you get when you miss a step walking down a staircase, your balance thrown off and your center of gravity ending up somewhere unexpected.

“Really unnecessary amount of semantic nitpicking,” you say, the words tumbling out uncertain and unsteady, not sure if the warmth you feel is irritation or something else entirely.

He grins, one of those calculating ones that makes you feel like he knows something you don’t. “It’s necessary if one statement is true and the other isn’t.”

You don’t respond to that, and in the silence you move further into the kitchen, taking residence on a bar stool on the side closest to the living room. You hadn’t seen, before, what Beck had taken from the freezer, but you can see it now; a block of tofu, semi-defrosted, dripping beads of condensation onto the countertop.

“You’re vegetarian?” You can’t keep the note of incredulity out of your voice, and you don’t try, either, knowing by now that he’d notice regardless.

Beck moves to the counter space by the sink, pulls a shining silver knife from the block on the counter and a cutting board from one of the cabinets below. “No,” he says, “But I don’t eat meat frequently. I assume you know enough about epidemiology to figure that out for yourself.”

He doesn’t say it like a compliment, more like a basic and trivial fact, but it still kind of– registers as one. That he just expects you to know things. You’d thought his general opinion of you to be markedly worse than that. “Lifestyle disease?”

He hums in affirmative—that, too, sounding expectant and unsurprised— unfolding the block of tofu from the plastic wrap which he discards, and placing it on the cutting board. “Bodies aren’t miracles, they’re machines. Machines need to be treated well if we want them to last.”

“Nice rendition on the much simpler ‘you should eat healthy because it’s good for you’,” you say, through something that you are deciding to call a snicker instead of a giggle, for– reasons. “You are so not beating the Patrick Bateman allegations.”

Beck finally looks up at that, and his face does the same thing it did in the car– the mask, or whatever annoyingly impenetrable facade he maintains, it slips, for second, his face relaxes and his mouth twitches up and his eyebrow raises a little, maybe unintentionally, the sum of his features far more expressive than you’re accustomed to, surprise and amusement and something else you don’t recognize flickering across them in quick succession. “Allegations,” he repeats, nonplussed, almost a question, and then, with an undercurrent of humor, “You’ve seen American Psycho ? That movie is almost as old as you are.”

“Not beating the allegations- it’s just a saying. It means, like, you’re living up to a stereotype.” You register what might have been a jab at your age a few moments too late to even really react to it, and you think that it should probably make you feel uncomfortable or uneasy or anything, really, but it doesn’t– which does make you uncomfortable. Because you should care. Presumably. “And, yeah, I had a computer. I think I pirated it when I was like, fifteen.”

“I had it on VHS, for a while, when I was in high school; I was too young to see it in theaters when it came out.” Beck has already turned back to the task at hand, moved to another set of cabinets under the counters further from you to pull out a large, high-walled pan. You can see, though, from the light in the kitchen, the way that his mouth tugs up at the corners still, like he can’t quite suppress it completely. “You think I could be a serial killer, and you still willingly came to my house?”

“Do I need to explain the concept of a joke to you?” you reply, intending for it to be sardonic and scathing but finding that it really just sounds like you’re teasing him. The way a friend might. And god, that’s–

(Weird. Bad. Maybe neither— is that worse?)

(You’re not going to think about it.)

He doesn’t say anything back, just hums under his breath, low and amused and barely audible, and takes out a set of bowls from a cabinet above his head that he places on the counter.

“Go in the pantry and grab me the soy sauce and sesame oil,” he says after a moment, fixing you with a look in the seconds before it registers, “I’m not your personal chef, you’re going to help.”

It still takes a moment, after that, for the request to click. Even when you do get up to do as he’d asked, you take a moment to stretch out, first, before moving anywhere, reaching your arms up to the ceiling– he looks sidelong at you and you think his eyes might linger on the revealed expanse of your stomach where your sweater had risen up, and something low and warm inside of you is fucking satisfied by that.

“You say that like you wouldn’t still be doing this if I weren’t here,” you say when he looks away.

“I would,” he acknowledges as you approach him, and tips his head towards the closed door to his right. “But since you went and lost your keys and are now intruding on my weekend, the least you can do is make yourself useful.”

The remark is so at odds with the series of events that had brought you here in the first place and in such direct contrast with his own behavior that the slight doesn’t even really register; rolls right off, like water. “Right, because this is such an inconvenience to you.”

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth, and there’s that new strange feeling again, like somebody’s filled your whole body with buzzing TV static.

You find the pantry at his earlier direction, open the door and scan the rows of shelves, as spotless and impeccably organized as everything else in his apartment. The sesame oil and soy sauce are just below eye height and next to each other among a neat line of various other ingredients– cooking wine and white vinegar and molasses and more that you don’t take notice of in the time it takes to grab what he’d asked for and close the door again.

“Fridge,” he says when you place the bottles on the counter beside him, having finished cutting the tofu into neat squares that he sweeps off the cutting board and into a bowl with the flat of his knife. “Broccoli and green peppers, they’ll be in the bottom drawer on the left.”

His fridge is one of those massive gleaming silver ones with the double-doors and built-in water and ice dispenser, and it, like everything else, is pristine and neatly kept; you find both items where he’d directed you, still wrapped in those paper-thin plastic bags from the grocery store.

“There’s beer in the door, by the way, if you want any.”

True to word there are bottles lined in the trays on the left inside shelf— wheat and fruit varieties, mostly, light and tolerable and kind of surprising; you’d have pegged him as a snobby IPA type— though you decide that, despite his often incomprehensible devotion to being an asshole at all times, you still can’t abandon the weird sort of obligations that come with being a guest in someone else’s home. Namely, the feeling that it was somehow improper to accept an offer not also indulged in by the host. “Do you?”

He considers it for a second. “Yeah, I’ll take one.”

“Anything specific?”

“No,” There’s that edge, again, more teasing than anything else, and you ignore that, too— the difference, the lack of overt malice— with an ease that should probably be concerning, “I like all of them, that’s why they’re there. Pick one and come here, you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

The words come here, because you’re pathetic, they drag that winding coil of tension in the pit of your stomach back to the surface, but then the fridge begins to beep at you–you’ve kept it open for too long, presumably– and so you push the thoughts back down and blindly pick two from the bottom rack, allowing the doors to fall closed again.

At the counter he’s already portioned out snap peas he must have pulled from the freezer earlier, and mixed what you assume to be a sauce together in another bowl.

“Start cutting them up,” he says as he takes one of the bottles from your outstretched hands, nodding towards the vegetables you’d grabbed from the fridge, and then the cutting board, moved further down the counter to a spot where you’d have the space to stand alongside him. Beck doesn’t wait for your response; he turns and flicks on the stove and pours sesame oil down the sides of the pan, not bothering with measurements, just eyeing it with a practiced and familiar ease. He’s rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, cuffs neatly folded and edges creased, probably while you were in the fridge, and the tanned and solid expanse of his forearms— you’re not staring, not exactly, but you’re aware of it as you rinse the peppers and the head of broccoli in the sink, the sight of him in your periphery. The oil crackles in the pan, browns and aromatizes, fills the kitchen with the smell, fragrant and rich like salt and nuts and caramel; your eyes keep getting drawn back to him, the muscles and the tendons flexing in his hands as he moves to add the already-prepared ingredients, sprinkles salt and red pepper, lifts and shakes the pan to toss the contents of it—

“If you want to be of any use to me, that needs to be done before this is,” he says, tone deceptively mild. You’re barely halfway through cutting the broccoli up into approximately bite-sized pieces, and at his comment your eyes flicker away from where they’d drifted to him again.

You don’t say anything in response, just try to focus more intently on the task, slower and more clumsy and comparatively unskilled as you are at it; it’s not like it’s difficult, really, it’s just one of those things that’s borne out of practice, of which you had little, considering your circumstances. Begrudgingly, you acknowledge to yourself that he’d been right, before, about the challenge being less the actual cooking than the learning of it, something you had next to no energy for– much less the desire to do– as a seemingly perpetually-busy grad student.

Some time during your finishing dividing up the broccoli and setting a pepper on the wooden surface of the cutting board he must have turned the stove down, set the pan aside; you feel him behind you before you really even know that he’s there, the air changing, growing warmer with his presence.

“You’re going too slow.”

You hum, in response, before you try to speak, making sure your voice isn’t going to betray you and crumble the second you say anything in return, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, unconcerned, and for whatever reason that, too, feels like– something. Something weird. “You’re learning.”

When he moves closer, his head above your shoulder, his arms bracketing yours and his hands lingering somewhere near your wrists, your breathing catches and your pulse picks up and that thing inside of you— the thing that had never really gone away in the first place, hadn’t ever faded or lessened at all since you first got out of his car, that ever-widening chasm of your own want like a fucking fault in the earth that you’d just somehow been managing to ignore this whole time— it rears its head again, dizzying, requisitions the bulk of your attention span to the point where you nearly nick your fingers.

“Wow, actually, maybe you’re not learning,” he murmurs, gently mocking, low in your ear as his hands move down to overlay your own, steadying your grip on the knife. “So much for making yourself useful.”

“I’m not great at tuning out distractions,” you tell him, and in your head you imagine you say it with enough bite to imply that he’s being annoying, but in reality it just comes out soft, plaintive– a confession rather than an accusation.

“Oh, really? Couldn’t tell.” You can hear the smile, bleeding into the tone of his voice.

With him directing you, it goes much faster, turning with one hand and cutting with the other, the movements methodical and clean; rationally, you know it must have been no more than a minute or two, but it feels like so much longer and so much shorter, somehow, your perception defying all sense of logic, your entire body thrumming with the awareness of him, the broad span of his chest and the places it’s almost touching your shoulders, his hands, steady and warm and rough, his breathing, too, the rhythm of it against the shell of your ear, the goosebumps it sends prickling across your neck—

“There,” he says when it’s done, when he steps back and the air goes cold and that stupid thing inside of you twinges with an embarrassing amount of disappointment, “Not so hard.”

Beck returns to the stove, cranks the heat back up; you swallow and steady your breathing and reach for your beer on the counter, the top already having been cracked open for you; when he’d even had time to do that, you have no idea, but you murmur a quiet thanks as you reach for it and drain a long sip, if only to have something to do.

“Garbage is the drawer on the left by the wall,” he says over his shoulder, “Just throw out what’s left over and put the dishes in the sink. The bottles away, too,” he jerks his head towards the sesame oil and the soy sauce, “And then you’re good.”

“And then I’ll have made up for ‘ intruding on your weekend’ ?” you reply, still far softer than you’d intended it to be as you move through the tasks, tossing the seeded pepper cores and the stump of broccoli in the garbage alongside the scraps from the cutting board, placing that and a stack of bowls in the sink.

His answering chuckle is soft and low, the particulars of his expression blocked from view by the pantry door as you replace the items you’d pulled from there. “No, honey, then you’ll have helped with dinner. Making up for intruding on my weekend–” When he laughs again, the sound is a lot less kind than before; and maybe he’s amused by the reference, or maybe the circumstance, or maybe something else entirely, some other thing that only he knows about, a punchline to a joke that you’re not in on. “You will.”

It’s the way that he says it, probably, or the particulars of the words– the difference between you will and you can that seems impossibly large and unfathomably significant in this context– but it makes your breath catch and your pulse tremble and that warmth– the heat– it rages back before he’s even really finished speaking, searing and unavoidable like somebody had turned the gas on a stove up to the very top or just gone and broken the dial off completely. You could blame what happens next on the effect of all of a half a beer on an otherwise-empty stomach or the terrible realization of both being so far beyond outside of your depth and having lost control of whatever tenuous hold you ever really had on your own desire, but–

The last bottle– does not even matter which one it is and you don’t fucking care anyway– slips from your fingers a centimeter from the edge of the shelf, and though you catch it before it hits the ground and return it, more carefully, this time, to its’ place, you know— you just do, even though you can’t see him, even though he can’t see you, even though he’s ostensibly busy, preoccupied, not paying attention — that he still somehow notices it, too.

You don’t eat at the table, because he does not, strictly speaking, have one. What he has instead is just one of those chest-high dividing walls that acts to partially separate the kitchen from the currently unlit living room, outfitted with enough counter space to hold dishes for maybe a grand total of four guests. The food cools in the pan until the sound of crackling oil fades and then goes silent completely, leaving just the steam to rise from it and spiral up towards the ceiling in wavering lines; Beck brings it over to the bar, then, uses a fork to fill both plates, and sets the pan in the sink.

You mumble a thanks, to which he responds with a noncommittal, wordless hum; you eat mostly in silence, perched on the stool you’d sat in before, on the end of the bar outside the kitchen. He sits across from you and you try not to look at him too often, but you’re certain you don’t succeed, as much as you’re certain that he must know, somehow, must be keenly aware of each and every time that you glance up at him— at his forearms, his sleeves still rolled to his elbows, his chest, too, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, the heat of the stove having softened the crisp, pressed lines of it, his tie gone, discarded at some point. He looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, more at ease, and you are affected by that, apparently.

He finishes eating before you, and you watch him then, too, as he moves around the kitchen, slotting his plate and the silverware and the used bowls into the dishwasher, scrubbing clean the cutting board, setting it to dry, washing the knife by hand with a sponge in the sink and returning it to the block on the counter.

“You’re so organized,” you blurt out, without meaning to, suddenly aware that your beer is less than half full, probably less than a quarter, and you’d drank most of it well before you’d eaten anything.

“I take it I’m still not beating the Patrick Bateman allegations, then,” he replies, with a grin you could only really describe as conspiratorial. For a second you don’t realize he’s actually made a joke that wasn’t at your expense– one that was, actually, weirdly, at his own– and when it registers you’ll blame being halfway drunk for the involuntary and genuine and utterly helpless burst of laughter that escapes you before you can even so much as think to stop it.

Whatever emotion passes briefly across his face in response to that seems almost pleased. But it’s late and you’re tipsy and unthinking and it’s easy to just not worry about it, any of it, to just let yourself react like you would in any other interaction with anyone else, for once unconcerned with the machinations of whatever game he’s always playing.

“I was actually– ” you start, the words stumbling to a halt when you find yourself laughing again, and when they start back up they come spilling from you faster than your brain can comprehend, a precarious situation that results in far more honesty than you intended. “That was— it was kind of a compliment.”

“A compliment,” he repeats, the tone of his voice mocking and sly; his expression has shifted to one of those pointed and intentional looks, the corners of his mouth curled up, not a smile and not even really a nice thing at all, but the rush of warmth that floods your face in response is still immediate and abjectly fucking damning. “And here I thought you would sooner drop dead than ever entertain so much as a positive thought about me.”

Part of the flush in your cheeks, you reason, is probably the alcohol, another part the way it’s gotten warmer in the kitchen with the stovetop on, but there’s still some that’s just due to whatever thing that’s been simmering inside of you this whole time– the way it’s buzzing, right now, nervous and flighty and alive as you watch him move back towards you. He’s grabbed two more beers from the fridge, with his empty, and yours nearly there; the thought occurs to you to decline, in the interest of preserving whatever remains of your ability for clear-headed and rational thought, but–

You realize, with far less shame than you figure you should be feeling, you don’t actually want to preserve that at all.

“I don’t have to like someone to recognize they can have good qualities,” you say, flippant, more relaxed than you feel, “Everyone does. You’re still a human being, even if you do get on my nerves.”

Beck goes quiet and still for a second, takes a long, slow sip from his beer, and then fixes you with this look that’s so intense it’s unsettling. “So, what, you don’t like me, then?”

Something in your subconscious prickles at the question or maybe just at the fact that he’d even asked it; he doesn’t sound offended, or upset, or even like he cares much at all either way, which doesn’t surprise you. But you can’t figure out exactly why he would be asking, otherwise. You take another sip of your beer, finishing the bottle; wordlessly, Beck reaches across the table for the second one, and cracks the top open on the edge of the counter; you murmur a quiet thanks as he sets it beside you.

“I mean– you definitely don't like me, so I don’t see how that would be unexpected,” you say after a while, not really answering outright, unsure you would even be able to. Not knowing for certain what the answer even is, anymore.

Beck blinks, expressionless for a second, before he breaks out into another smile, this one markedly unkind, suspended somewhere between derision and incredulity. “Of course I like you,” he says, in a tone like he’s talking to a particularly stubborn or particularly stupid child, and if he were saying anything else right then maybe you would have remembered to be irritated at him for that. “You’re— god, sometimes you’re so obtuse. I mean, you’re smart as a whip, really, but you’re just– clueless.”

And–

None of that makes sense to you, and you get the feeling that the alcohol isn’t to blame, that even stone-cold sober you would still be left parsing this same inexplicable and fundamentally contradictory amalgam of facts and secondary emotions– one, he thinks you’re smart, really smart, even, and there’s a part of you that does something awful and pathetic like fucking preens at that, and two, he also apparently and simultaneously thinks you’re stupid, which isn’t that much of a surprise, and three, perhaps most confusing of them all–

“What the fuck do you mean, you— you like me?”

Beck exhales, this long-suffering sound as if you’ve proved his point by even asking, and says, “Really, just– it’s not complicated. Exactly what it sounds like.” He drains probably a quarter of his second beer, leans forwards on his elbows, and shrugs. “You said that I dislike you, and I’m saying that you’re wrong.”

“Okay, I don’t–” you tear your eyes from him, stare hard at your plate, pushing a browned piece of broccoli around the mostly-empty edges of it with the tines of your fork, certain you can feel the actual cogs inside of your head as they turn, uselessly, stuck in place and uncomprehending. “That doesn’t make any sense. You– I mean, you’ve basically had a vendetta against me since I was in undergrad.”

“No,” he says, that patient, vaguely annoyed quality still lingering in the word, and when you look up again his eyes are fixed on you, dark and unreadable, “I had an interest in you.”

“An interest in, what– bothering me?”

“Something like that.” The barest traces of humor infiltrate his otherwise still indecipherable expression. “You’re easily bothered, honey.”

“So, what, you—“ you stop to take another sip of your beer, head spinning, “You bother me on purpose, for years, and then you’re confused that I actually might not have liked you very much? At all, even?”

“I knew full well you didn’t like me. It didn't matter and it still doesn’t,” he says, with a level of disregard that you know, objectively, should concern you, “I’m not asking about then. I’m asking about now.”

Whatever your immediate response to that dries up as soon as you open your mouth, like your thoughts are flying by so quickly you can’t hold onto them long enough to figure out how to say them. You know, somewhere, deep down, that you should be angrier than you are about this. That you should be a lot of other things, too, things that are stronger and more important than anger– you should feel victimized, probably, violated , even, uncomfortable and uneasy and unsafe , knowing that he’d had some sort of fixation with you and with garnering your frustration for what amounts to numerous actual years. A subconscious part of you, though, might have already known a lot of that– or at the very least suspected it– since the very beginning of whatever the fuck this whole thing has even become, and there was that to contend with, too. But right now he’s admitting to it, all of it, explicitly; the intentional provocation and the unabashed harassment and the fact that he hadn’t cared at all about your feelings or your opinions or anything you thought that whole time– because it didn’t matter to him, not when what you felt had no direct impact on his ability to get what he wanted from you. He’s admitting that, presumably, the reason he feels some approximation of care– no, not even, just interest, cold and objective and impersonal– regarding those things now is because now it actually can impact things. What you feel about him now could absolutely stop him from getting whatever it is that he wants from you– sex, presumably, though he clearly still enjoys getting under your skin, too-- because now you have no contractual obligation to even so much as exchange pleasantries with him anymore, much less be here, in his house. You could leave, easily, never see him again if that’s what you wanted, if you really disliked him that much.

He doesn’t want that, you realize, with a dawning understanding. He does not want you to dislike him, at least not enough to drive you away. Not now, because now– now it runs counter to his own interests.

“I don’t know,” you say finally, looking up at him and feeling unsteady just in doing it, not sure whether your instincts should be telling you to do now– because they aren't telling you to do anything more than what they’ve pretty much always done every time you’ve so much as seen him in the last four months. You still want him, the maddening and terrible way that you feel like you always do just at the sight of him alone, that desire simmering right under your skin, and maybe in the moment you could blame the one-and-a-half beers or the time or the circumstance, but none of that would really even be true. Your survival instincts, what little of them you even possess to begin with, have always, always been next to nonexistent when it comes to this.

Him.

Whatever.

God, none of this would be an issue if the sex was worse. If it was even just average. Or even–

“So you don’t, then,” he replies, and as soon as he speaks it’s like your awareness snaps to him, narrows and refines like adjusting a microscope, everything falling outside the edges of the lens drifting out of focus. Your thoughts; your ability to reason, too, probably. This was a terrible, terrible idea, you had thought that in the hallway in the biology building what feels like actual lifetimes ago, and you’d been right, then; you should not be here.

It’s alarming, the way that you can’t even seem to summon up the will to care.

“I said I don’t know.” That horrible iniquitous thing in your belly coils itself tighter, twisting in on itself like a snake, hollow and starving, like it wants to sink teeth into him, and would do it, too, if he were closer.

“Right. And maybe you don’t,” Beck replies, as if to say, I do , a hard gleam of satisfaction in his eyes that betrays the otherwise light, conversational cadence of his voice.

You don’t respond to that. In your belly, that heat pulses and burns brighter.

There’s a silence, then, drawn out and excruciatingly unbearable, and during it you drain the rest of your beer, maybe just to do something with your hands, relieve that nervous itch in your fingers. Maybe to chase the feeling of being somewhere beyond your own control– because that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Because– well, presumably because there is something fucking wrong with you.

“Thank you,” you say, after a long while, “For dinner.”

Whatever you see in his expression then; it seems like enjoyment. Like he’s pleased. And while you could almost understand all the rest of the things you’d just seen from him–

You don’t understand that.

“It’s late,” he says, with a casual nonchalance, taking your plate from you to the dishwasher and waving a dismissive hand at your protests, you being an adult who is perfectly capable of putting your own dishes away, and all.

When he turns back, you rise from the bar stool and meet him halfway, in the middle of the kitchen. Like this, you have to tip your head back to look at him, just a little, and whatever shameless thing inside of you that you try so hard to repress when you’re not tipsy and unthinking is way too into that, but seeing as you are both of those things at the moment, you don’t care. That feeling, the climbing, steady warmth; it just spreads further, sweeps through your limbs and fills every part of you, until you think it must overtake every cell in your body. Until it’s all you can think about.

He looks at you, for a second, and one of those slow, sharp smiles curves across his face. When he moves past you and towards the living room,he steps into your space to do it– on purpose, you know it’s on purpose, if there’s ever anything you’re absolutely sure about when it comes to him it’s that everything is always on fucking purpose– and you can’t stop any of the things that you know must happen; the way your body must go tense and strung taut with anticipation or how your breathing must catch somewhere in your throat or how your pupils must dilate, the breadth of your irises reduced to just a tiny sliver of color–

“Come on,” he says, without looking back, voice unbearably even. “I’ll put something on the TV.”

And–

That feeling inside of you– it pulses and trembles and wants, and then it doesn’t really matter what you do or don’t understand or what little sense you could ever make of his behavior or motivations, because–

You understand this, at least.

#ties that bind #quentin beck x reader #mysterio x reader #ohhh this was a fun scene. this dynamic is deeply enjoyable to write he's such a weird fucked up guy

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dark-night-star-light · 1 year ago

Text

Spirit Animals: The Book of Shane (Reread pt. 18)

DISCLAIMER: WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE SERIES EXCEPT THE LAST FOUR BOOKS OF THE SECOND SERIES (THIRD ARC).

Masterpost

Who is Shane?

“It isn’t very often that a gorilla and an octopus have a polite conversation” (1). God, I forgot how much I love this book.

“‘Hello, hello,’ said a deep voice . . . ” (1). I adore Mulop. He’s probably the best Great Beast.

“‘A villain through and through. The perfect choice to destroy the world and hand it over to me’” (2). This . . . is not how villains think. They genuinely believe they’re doing the right thing. Especially Kovo. He’s not just a mustache twirling villain. He has complex motivations. Why’s he pretending otherwise???

“‘I see a boy who will regret his mistakes . . . and who will miss his only true friend’” (2). The Shane and Abeke crumbs are going to destroy me. “His only true friend” I’m going to start sobbing.

“‘Is there a soul in there with any hope of redemption?’” (3). Shane’s redemption arc is truly one of the best I’ve ever seen. Also, this book clearly hints at the Wyrm, so I wonder why the writers didn’t make Kovo seem even the least bit sympathetic.

“‘I am quite certain,’ said Mulop. ‘that he would disagree.’ ‘I am quite certain,’ said Kovo. ‘that I don’t care’” (4). Obsessed with this interaction.

I don’t know if this is an unpopular opinion or not, but I actually really like the fourth wall break at the end of the introduction.

Venom

I forgot about the quotes . . .

The parallels to the main story are so good. Both stories start with the summoning of a spirit animal but the contrast between terror and happiness is so jarring.

“It was only then that the true horror of the situation finally dawned on Shane” (11). I think it’s so interesting that Shane himself never summoned one. That’s such a good choice on the writers’ part.

Shane’s jerking awake and obsessive checking is so sad. It almost feels like a form of PTSD. I love how they characterized him and his bare room.

“It was only after he was satisfied that he had not summoned a spirit animal in his sleep that he remembered to breathe” (11). How would you not know, though? You’d feel it.

“The tapestries showed legendary scenes of Stetriol’s ancient past. On one, torrents of water flowed from the mouth of a frog, creating all the lakes and rivers. Another showed two lizards painting patterns on each other, one with a fine brush and an eye for detail, the other without care” (12). I feel like that means something. Also, that must be Stetriol’s legendary water frog.

“But the Great Beasts had cursed Stetriol. They were better forgotten” (12). I wonder if Shane believes in the Great Beasts’ existence. Also, it’s so interesting how the “God” interpretation works here for the Great Beasts too, seeing as how Shane blames them for Stetriol’s curse. It’s strange he never learned about the First Devourer War.

“Shane imagined that if she attempted to lower herself any more than that, she might never manage to get up again” (13). Shane is hilarious, actually. Just not in a conventional way.

“He wasn’t sure exactly how old she was, but during her history lessons it was easy to imagine that she spoke from personal experience. The oddest thing about her, though, was that she sometimes spoke of the future as if it were history, too” (13). Wait. Did Yumaris bond to the earthworm before the events of the series??? I thought she got it when she drank the Bile??? Also, wow, lots of potential for plot holes there . . .

“‘You will be glad to have this blade,’ she said . . . ” (13). OMG WAIT. DID SHE SEE THE WAR COMING? IS THAT WHY SHE GAVE HIM THE BLADE??? I think I got it, guys . . .

“Yumaris answered, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘For words and learning do little to impress a jackal.’ Shane tightened his belt and gave his tutor a questioning look. ‘There are no jackals in Stetriol’” (13). Wait. Yumaris saw Zerif coming??? That’s how I’m going to interpret it . . .

It’s funny how Shane sees Gar as this wicked man, then does nothing about it.

“ . . . rumor had it that King Feliandor himself had added them during his reign, sometime after he had taken to calling himself the Reptile King” (15). So, the people of Stetriol know something at least . . .

“That was only made worse after the great war and the Greencloak invasion, when the island nation’s shores were overrun” (15). Wait, so. Then that means they know the full story, right??? Also I don’t know if I’ve talked about it before but the parallels between the Devourer Wars and the World Wars. The first ones were both referred to as “the great war” and the second was directly caused by the attacking nation being sidelined after being defeated during the first. I almost wonder if the inspiration for the First and Second Devourer Wars came from World War I and II.

Okay, so Zerif’s sunburn makes sense given that he climbed to Muttering Rock, but how was he not fried alive???

So Magda appears to be a servant, but earlier it’s stated that they didn’t have money to pay servants???

I kind of wish they’d shown more scenes of Shane and Drina before the bonding sickness incident.

“‘A worm? A slug? Something small and worthless’” (19). Interesting that Drina says this, because Yumaris’s spirit animal is a worm. Almost feels like Drina has a strained relationship with Yumaris. Foreshadowing the fact that Yumaris is the one that held Drina down when she got killed by Gerathon?

[cut because block limit]

“‘It’s not fair,’ she said . . . ‘I’d be great. I’d be so great’” (19). That’s actually so heartbreaking.

“But in that moment, he felt no pity for her, and no love - only hate. Then he saw the handkerchief she held against her mouth. It was wet and heavy with blood” (19). This hits so hard. Just straight observations with no emotions attached. It feels so hopeless.

This snake anecdote is interesting. Might talk about it more in my Shane analysis.

“But then their mother was there” (20). Doesn’t she have the bonding sickness??? Maybe this was a good day.

“‘This is the prince of Stetriol,’ she said. ‘He’ll never bow to a mere snake’” (21). This could either be irony, considering what happened with Gerathon, or it could be symbolism, with snakes representing evil and his mother saying that Shane would never become evil.

“In her absence . . . ” (21). Is Shane’s mom dead?

“ . . . when the Reptile King’s soldiers had bonded with any animal they could get their hands on” (21). So he knows about the Bile, too???

“‘I am in charge!’ Shane shouted” (23). Yeah, gettem. Also it’s hilarious how this must look to Zerif, to have this child shout at him like that.

Why doesn’t Shane just show Zerif to his father? Like, yeah, he’s sick or whatever, but he can just have him thrown in jail afterward again.

Shane casually calling himself leader in front of Gar!!!

“‘We’re the most peaceful nation in Erdas. The rest of the world pretends we don’t exist’” (25). He literally knows the entire story except the part about the existence of Nectar??? Also, why is Gar so insistent on starting a war? Like all he cares about is building his fleet. But why?

“‘It is my honor as regent to stand before you today to christen this ship . . . ’” (27). Erdas had Christianity???

The Stetriol-post-WWI-Germany parallels are. Not subtle.

Isn’t this the scene where Shane realizes that Gar wants to send him away to war to secure his own power??? Why is that not mentioned?

The idea of a small eight-year-old child who’s determined to kill all snakes is simply adorable.

“He was armed for war” (29). *insert picture of small child in scraps of armor*

“‘He wants to hurt the snakes,’ Drina said . . . ‘Because they hurt him’” (30). It’s interesting how Shane’s mom teaches him about harming innocents with revenge as young as eight, but this scene never actually says he processed or learned that.

“‘Most snakes are harmless, Shane. And the one that bit you was only surprised. You don’t want to hurt snakes for being snakes, do you?’” (30). Parallels between the war on the snakes and the war on the Greencloaks? The Greencloaks hurt Shane first, so he tries to hurt all of them, even the innocent ones.

Small Shane yelling about how he’s not scared is so cute.

“‘Sometimes hate and fear are the same thing’” (30). Is this coded toward his relationship with Drina or the Greencloaks?

“ . . . Shane widened his eyes as if he cared” (31). Shouldn’t . . . he? Isn’t he kinda poor? Stolen food could be expensive . . . Also why are there servants now???

It’s so interesting how we don’t see Drina’s response to Shane asking her to leave with him . . .

“The planks that made up the fort had been painted pink and green - Drina’s and Shane’s respective favorite colors” (32). I’m going to assume that Shane’s favorite color is green based on the order the names and colors are listed in . . . his favorite color used to be the color of his future enemies . . .

“He trailed his hand along a pink plank, curled his fingers into the gap, and with sudden violence ripped the board free” (32). He’s ripping away his childhood . . . ?

Oh, this is the scene where he realizes Gar’s plans to send him away to danger.

“If Shane refused to sail with the fleet, he would look like a coward” (32). He says . . . right before the exposition about his plan to leave Stetriol. Does he think that won’t make him look like a coward???

“Perhaps they’d even have a cure for Drina” (33). He’s right . . . in a sense. Even though it’s never explicitly stated, it's definitely implied that Nectar can’t cure bonding sickness, it can only prevent it.

Nobody: Literally nobody: Shane: *screams*

“‘Sugar water. Salt water. One maniac tried to convince my father to drink snake venom’” (34). But like. Why??? Was he unhappy or something?

“‘And during the day, it’s as hot as a cauldron.’ ‘I do not burn easily,’ Zerif said . . . ” (35). Only during the day??? Well, then, a lot of people should’ve been able to get to the top, right??? Just do it during the night . . . why is Zerif the only one who’s done this???

“‘One can learn all sorts of secrets,’ . . . ‘if one takes time to listen at the base of that great pillar’” (35). So Kovo didn’t hire Zerif, Zerif just overheard him talking???

“But Shane wasn’t allowed in the water. He knew he’d never be free” (36). Free, as in freely bonded to a spirit animal???

I forgot Shane’s mom died.

“ . . . the Great Beasts were all but ignored in Stetriol . . . ” (37). Because Stetriolans believe the Great Beasts cursed them?

It’s interesting how Shane thinks of the Four Fallen as “aid[ing] the Greencloak invasion” (37).

It really means something that Shane chose Mulop and Mulop is the only Great Beast that canonically saw the best in him. Shane and Mulop both have soft spots for each other.

Feliandor-Shane parallels!

“He looked over the portrait for a moment more, and decided he didn’t see much of a resemblance” (38). Shane! Fel! Parallels! Feliandor looking at the portrait of his parents and seeing no resemblance, but seeing that as a negative thing, and Shane seeing the portrait of Fel and seeing no resemblance, but seeing that as a positive thing.

“‘So smug,’ Shane said, feeling a little smug himself” (39). Heh.

[cut because block limit]

“‘Feliandor’s soldiers all used the Bile, and none of them suffered the bonding sickness’” (39). Okay, Shane came to the right conclusion, but did nobody tell him that the bonding sickness didn't even exist before the war?

How does Shane know what a talisman even is? Isn’t that some sort of secret?

The idea of the true king having the Jade Serpent is such a cool concept, and having the talisman be in the throne as a very literal interpretation of that is kind of interesting, because it kind of symbolizes how frivolous and material Kovo saw being king of Stetriol as. By “true king” he literally meant “guy who sits on the throne”, instead of something like “had the qualities of a king”.

“Would that mean Gar was the true king of Stetriol?” (41). See, this is what I mean. The narrative implies that having the talisman equals being the true king, even though that’s just what Zerif says.

Shane tries to save the kangaroo! That’s such a cool symbolism moment, representing how he truly just had good intentions.

“But there were no jackals in Stetriol” (43). Throwback moment.

“He refused, too, to admit that his wife had been sick” (44). Why did the king marry a woman with bonding sickness, anyway?

“But when his daughter . . . was similarly stricken, something in the king has snapped” (44) and “‘But the real trouble happened when he decided he could cure himself . . . He killed his own spirit animal’” (45) imply that the king killed his spirit animal around the time Drina got the sickness. It’s interesting how the combination of the death of a spirit animal and the bonding sickness compound on one another instead of canceling each other out.

“‘ . . . I’d have to admit that the king is . . . unfit. That Stetriol is without a true leader’” (44). Not really anything wrong with that, though? He could just claim his position as leader.

Zerif refers to Shane as “Prince Shane”!!!

So Shane knew the entire story of what happened except the part about the Greencloaks having the Nectar. And that’s the turning point. That’s the moment he goes from being innocent to . . . not so much.

Kovo’s message being so literal is perfect symbolism for how Shane saw being king as a surface-level thing. Just have a powerful spirit animal and no sickness and you’ll be a great ruler! Never mind any other qualities a king may need!

“The sense of triumph he experienced in that moment . . . ” (46). This reminds me of how he’s described to have “cold triumph” in his eyes during the showdown on Muttering Rock.

“ . . . bracing himself for her verbal abuse” (46). It’s so sad how he got used to that, though, even though he knew it wasn’t her fault.

“The curse had been broken” (47). Ironic.

“Shane stood on the beach that night and watched his sad little handmade boat go up in flames” (47). Symbolism for destruction of innocence, me thinks. The boat was made out of his childhood playhouse.

It’s so interesting how Shane didn’t get a real spirit animal, unlike Fel. Just thinking about how in another nation, he’d have been the only one in his family to not live up to expectations.

“He felt neither. But while their eyes were averted, he allowed himself a furtive smile” (48). Sort of makes me think that Shane’s morals immediately going out the window is about the destruction of his innocence more than him finally realizing it was an option to kill his father.

“What kind of person would want a spirit animal? A ruler, thought Shane. A king.” (48). This is what I meant when I said that Shane saw very shallow things as qualities of a good ruler rather than actual good qualities.

“Shane dreamed he’d bonded with a crocodile” (48). Ohohohohooho.

“The creature had drowned one man and maimed two others before it had been subdued” (48). Kind of reminds me of that scene in Blood Ties where Shane sacrifices his own soldier to save Abeke. He doesn’t care who’s loyal to him.

“He woke slowly from an untroubled sleep” (49). Unlike the past two years . . .

Also this story proves that Zerif’s jackal was a natural spirit animal . . . but we know he took the Bile. We also know after the war, it runs away, but wouldn’t their bond have been natural by that point? How did it leave him?

Vendetta

“The war was over, and he’d won it” (55). Gotta love the stark contrast between this section and the next one (Vengeance).

“But who needed to tell them apart anymore? What was the point of borders, anyway? It all belonged to him now” (55). Shane being up high symbolism for his ego?

“They’d both been lying for a very long time, hiding their true natures, like a crocodile hides beneath the surface of the water, waiting to strike” (56). The crocodile-Shane symbolism is just such a cool thread. It represents his corruption and redemption beautifully.

“The days he’d spent on the boat with Abeke had been … Well, they had been a pleasant respite from months of war” (56). I love how subtle this book is with Shane’s feelings for Abeke. You just get these little gems throughout that show how much he does truly care for her and how much it did hurt to betray her.

I like how it’s shown very clearly how hard the Greencloaks tried to fight to get the talismans back. Like they didn’t just give up hope at the end of Rise and Fall like the narrative suggests. No, they still tried to get them back. And they very nearly did.

“‘Have a care!’ Shane shouted. ‘Lose me and you lose the talismans’” (58). The ego that drips off of Shane in this section is just. Wow, this guy really talked back to a Great Beast. It’s honestly so well done.

“If there was one thing Shane couldn’t stand, it was feeling powerless. He’d had enough of that back in Stetriol. But he hadn’t truly been powerless in a long time. Not since he’d drunk the Bile and joined Zerif in his campaign against the Greencloaks” (58). I kind of want to know what Zerif’s motive in all this is? Why does he hate the Greencloaks? This is a great way of tying Shane pre-corruption and Shane post-corruption, though.

“‘Why not? Let them come in force,’ Shane scoffed. ‘I took them on single-handedly. What chance would they have against my army?’” (59). Shane is such an egoistic little bitch in this section, it's hilarious.

“‘You would not wish to displease Gerathon.’ ‘I know that,’ Shane spat. His face grew warm despite the blustery wind. ‘I know that well’” (59). Ohhhhhhhh.

Shane’s fear of spiders parallels Meilin’s fear of spiders. They both started hating spiders during the same incident (Drina getting murdered by her own spirit animal). And Shane’s ego in this section perfectly matches Meilin’s near the beginning of the series, as well.

“ . . . the most beautiful to Shane’s eye was the leopard of amber. It seemed to glow with its own inner light” (62). Well, warning that I’m about to read into this way more than the author probably meant for me to. The talisman is almost definitely symbolism for Abeke. It says “to Shane’s eye” meaning that objectively, the talisman probably doesn’t look that much better than the other talismans. Just like how, objectively, Abeke looks pretty average, but to Shane she’s more than that. It also says there’s an “inner light” which implies something that shines from within, not necessarily anything physical to see. Just like how Abeke has an inner charm. Also, the obvious leopard-Abeke symbolism.

Why does Shane have a vial of Bile??? Why would he need that???

“Kovo’s Obsidian Ape likewise enhanced his vision, but in a subtly different way than the falcon did” (65). I wonder how the Greencloaks got their hands on Kovo’s talisman and why they never used it before.

“[The Amber Leopard] made him feel at ease in this Niloan jungle Uraza had once called home. It was simply the most practical choice, he told himself” (66). Mhm.

“They had trusted their neighbors. That had apparently been a mistake” (67). Love the detached, almost unreliable way this is narrated. Out of context, you would think that Shane was not the one responsible for all the destruction.

“‘You killed me, whether you meant to or not. And that,’ he said, ‘is your nature’” (69). Probably more about Drina, honestly, not Gar.

“ . . . Shane jolted awake . . . ” (69). Hmmmm. So that didn’t go away then.

“Conor and Rollan had almost bragged about it when they’d told him” (70). Wow, Shane is an unreliable narrator.

“He was completely cut off from his sword, the talismans were a hopeless tangle on the floor . . . ” (71). This is why he should’ve kept the talismans on his person.

“ . . . feigning innocence before he remembered that he was in fact innocent” (73). Wow. Shane corruption arc go brrrrrr.

“The village, he decided, must have been protecting Greencloaks. It was the only explanation for the savagery with which the Conquerors had descended” (73). Wow, Shane really is such a manipulative ass in this section, and I love it.

[cut because block limit]

“ . . . he couldn’t bring himself to pose as a Greencloak” (74). Shane’s ego is really getting in his own way, like my guy. Come on.

“ . . . Shane couldn’t leave him alone in the jungle. Could he?” (75). Reading on a bit further, you can tell that Shane kind of really doesn’t care about Achi and only takes him because he’s useful as a guide.

“But he knew what question Achi was waiting to hear, and he asked it” (78). Shane is manipulative and charming as hell.

“‘Abeke?’ Shane called, louder this time. ‘Abeke, if you’re out there, I can explain everything’” (80). God, I want to know what he would’ve said. Like think about the possibilities.

“Shane made an involuntary gurgling sound” (81). THAT’S SO FUNNY.

Shane giving the Amber Leopard to Achi cements the Achi-Abeke parallels, in my head.

“He climbed even more nimbly now that he wore Abeke’s talisman - Uraza’s talisman, Shane corrected himself” (82). Ohhhh, so he does think of it as Abeke’s.

“‘Did you ever hear the story about how the goanna and the perentie got their coloring?’” (83). Kinda wanna hear that one.

“Kovo escaped, but he lost the tail to the cats” (85). I wanna say, it’s pretty unlikely that this story actually happened in canon, because as seen in Tales of the Great Beasts, Uraza did actually like Kovo before they were enemies, saying that it unsettled her that he would work with murderers and calling him her neighbor. But a cute story nonetheless.

Also the story is kind of foreshadowing in its own sense, since in it Kovo is manipulative, but is still defeated in the end.

“But that was the beauty of the Bile, wasn’t it? No one could resist it in the end. Not even stubborn, foolhardy Drina” (86). Foolhardy??? It’s still unclear whether Drina was in on the plan to get herself killed. In fact, it’s unclear whether Shane knew that the plan was to get Drina killed.

“He didn’t need to bribe Achi, and he didn’t need to bully him either” (87). Well, at least Shane still has a shred of decency in this section.

“‘She was no Greencloak. She wasn’t even Marked’” (88). Wow, the Conquerors are straight-up stupid. How dumb do you have to be to realize that a non-Marked person means you got the wrong person??? And how dumb is Achi’s dad to gamble that they’d be that dumb?

“In [the jackal’s] jaws was a bloody crown, forged in the shape of a snake devouring its own tail’” (88). Wow, foreshadowing for Zerif’s betrayal for sure.

“‘He got the cats to stop fighting. He saved the day!’” (89). It’s ironic because Shane is clearly paralleling himself, but also he’s the one that started a fight in real life.

“He was Uraza, and he was home” (91). Kinda cute, if you ignore the context.

“Not that it would have been a very strategic choice with a man-eating cat bearing down on him” (92). Right, but he’s used to sifting through talismans while running. He’s done it several times before in this section. Yes, he’s carrying Achi, but he’s also got Uraza’s talisman to take care of him while he searches.

“‘And I lost the man I - a good man, Tarik’” (93). Well, that’s about as close to canon as we’ll get.

“‘I haven’t killed anyone,’ Shane growled” (93). Someone needs to teach this guy that killing can be indirect. And also, I don’t think that’s true. There are several battles that he’s been in, so I feel like it’s unrealistic to say he’s never killed anyone.

“‘So high and mighty. Not against sending an assassin after me, though, are they?’” (93). Yeah??? This is a war??? They’re gonna send someone after you, duh. Bro, what kind of logic is that???

“He acted quickly, and replaced the Amber Leopard with Kovo’s Obsidian Ape” (94). Kind of showing him throwing his morals out the window, since he was so repelled by the Obsidian Ape earlier.

“Black and white. Precisely how the Greencloaks saw the world” (95). As if you don’t??? My guy???

“‘Achi, it’s okay,’ Shane said quickly. ‘Grahv won’t hurt you’” (95). Wonder how true that would be if Lishay had called his bluff . . .

“Shane had given him Jhi’s talisman and carried him all the way here despite the ache in his limbs” (96). Why did Shane carry him? Achi should’ve been healed? And why did Achi let Shane carry him?

“ . . . Shane turned to Achi and winked . . . ” (97). Bitch, he really tried that??? Like unironically??? I’m laughing. Man, I’m laughing so fucking hard.

“He tried to grasp at a fleeting sensation of victory, but it slipped through his fingers and was gone” (97). Kind of like how his victory over the Greencloaks in this section is short-lived and he lost anyway.

Vengeance

The quote. I’m sobbing.

“‘You won. We lost. Do you have to rub it in?’” (103). My guy. Do you know how war works???

“There was real hatred there. Real hunger for revenge” (103). Shane trying desperately to convince himself he’s not as much in the wrong as he is is simply splendid.

“‘Don’t play innocent with me,’ Shane countered. ‘I wrote the book on that particular trick . . . ’” (105). Paralleling the previous section?

“But he could always get more money” (106). How???

“‘Deadly?’ Shane echoed. ‘A frog?’” (107). Does he seriously not know about the whole bright-colors-warn-predators thing??? Huh . . .

Why does he have a vial of Bile on him??? That is so weird.

“‘They came close, though,’ Shane said, fighting to keep his voice steady” (108). Not him still trying desperately to stroke his own ego.

“ . . . hoarded so jealously over the years” (108). One thing I notice across several books in this series is that whenever they talk about the Greencloak-Nectar situation, they always say “hoarded jealously”. Like, variety in word choice is not a thing apparently.

“‘ . . . What sort of snake?’” (109). This section is so appealing because of the mystery aspect.

“But what if it didn’t stay that way? What if it could somehow do more harm? The Bile was Shane’s mess. And he was looking to clean up his messes” (110). Right, but he effectively does nothing. The Bile does lose all its power??? That’s so weird. But okay, I guess.

“ . . . stopped to trade for a bag of roasted nuts . . . ” (110). Where did he get the money??? He just gave it all away?

“‘You sound just like a snake I used to know’” (111). Yumaris???

Where is Shane getting the money to hire Anya??? Like huh???

Also Anya is described in an incredibly similar fashion to Anka. Like. I can see how you might get the two mixed up.

“As Shane’s parents and sister grew sicker, he was left entirely to her whims” (113). The relationship between Shane and Yumaris is so interesting and kind of contradictory in some places.

The whole conversation about tools is probably a reference to Venom, when Yumaris insists that Shane needs many tools . . .

“If this year of war had taught him anyway, it was how much he’d taken for granted as a prince” (115). This is directly contradictory to his statement in Vendetta about how he’s not pampered despite being a prince. Character development or something, I guess.

“‘“Bushmaster” is a code. And it leads to that jungle temple’” (117). How does he know that??? Is it something Yumaris taught him???

Feel like the venom-poison-snake-frog thing is symbolism for Shane and Yumaris. Shane is a snake, who’ll hurt you by himself, but for Yumaris to hurt you, you have to interact with her first.

“‘The bright colors are a warning to predators: I am dangerous and I taste bad. Stay away.’ ‘Sort of like a Greencloak,’ Shane said under his breath” (119). LOL.

“‘We don’t have bears here.’ ‘Tell that to the bear!’” (120). I love them, Your Honor.

[cut because block limit]

“Outside of Stetriol, they were supposed to pretend he was no more than their commander’s nephew” (121). Even the Conquerors that aren’t Stetriolan know that???

“‘I’m thinking we throw Soyland to the bear and she lets us go’” (123). I’m with Anya there, not gonna lie.

“‘The bear was a victim in all this. Poisoning her isn't right’” (124). Redemption arc Shane go brrrrr.

“‘“Bushmaster” was what we called this operation. We- We named them all after snakes’” (124). Oh, so that’s how he knew.

Also, what was the operation specifically?

I get that they have a common enemy, but Anya doesn’t react with much ferocity toward Shane’s reveal. Like. They haven’t even known each other that long.

“But there was no point in turning down the man’s gratitude, and he accepted it with a curt nod” (127). Yes. Yes, there is??? Yes, there is.

“Shane wondered briefly how many young men and women of Stetriol had marched into battle across Erdas” (127). Oh, so they are from Stetriol. Interesting.

“Each and every drop was a drop made by their hands” (129). Wow, the paranoia starts already.

“And then there was Yumaris, who made an unusual choice” (130). Okay, so if Yumaris hadn’t already been bonded to her worm before, then how did she know the future before taking Bile? It said she spoke of the future like the past, so was she just making that up???

“Alone among the kings and queens of Stetriol. Food for worms, all of them” (131). I guess you can never really escape your fate, even if you become great.

“‘Sir,’ said Lovvorn. ‘Sire!’ said Alix. ‘Idiot,’ said Anya” (136). Cackling.

“‘Did she tell you I have a weak spot for girl archers? Did she think I’d be more likely to trust you if you reminded me of someone I care about?’” (137). Ooooooooh. Kicking my feet at the subtle references to Abeke.

Shane blaming Yumaris for Drina’s death as if he isn’t the one that came up with the plan in the first place is so damn blame-shifty. (He came up with it right? Feel like that hasn’t been confirmed, only heavily implied.)

“‘Gerathon was going to kill one of you that day. By stepping in when I did, I ensured it wasn’t you’” (140). Why was Gerathon going to kill one of them??? I thought it was Drina, so the plan could go . . . well, according to plan. But it really seems like Shane and Yumaris had no idea Drina was going to be killed??? So what was the original plan exactly???

“‘I wish I could see for myself how you’ve grown’” (140). Awwww.

“‘The world above will need a protector who can walk the line between good and evil’” (141). Why do they need to be evil???

What happens to Anya after this? Does she just go back? Do they ever talk again? Does she know Shane eventually dies?

Venture

“‘I’m not here to cause trouble Maddox’” (148). Why are they immediately antagonistic??? I literally don’t remember shit about this.

“ . . . Abhay wasn’t from Stetriol - and he didn’t have an obvious grudge” (149). Wait. Are the men mad because Shane lost the war? Or something different?

“‘I am Maddox’s king’” (149). He just said it didn’t bother him to not be called a king like a page ago.

“‘People said that, at the end, you fought alongside the Greencloaks’” (149). How do people even know that? It happened at the Evertree, and nobody else was there.

“‘For us, the war never ended’” (151). Huh.

“Shane dreamed he summoned a wolf . . . he knew he’d never be alone again” (151). This is kind of heartbreaking, in a way. Like he’s been alone his whole life and only because of war is he making friends. And never ones that he really keeps.

“Others called him a traitor” (153). For fighting with Greencloaks in the end?

“She had a special knack for pointing out Shane’s shortcomings, and pride ranked high on the list” (154). She’s not wrong. Even in The Burning Tide, when Shane is trying to redeem himself, he wants to impress Abeke more than anything else.

“But, oh, how he wanted to trash this guy” (154). Yeah, me too, honestly. He doesn’t appear to be the most open-minded.

“Shane could swear the figure was wearing a crown” (155). Why is he watching her during a fight, anyway??? Like, dude???

“Shane dreamed he summoned a panda. The animal wrapped him in its arms” (155). Awwww.

“‘The dirt is no place for pride, my king’” (156). If Shane wanted to help himself, shouldn't he have gotten up and not laid pathetically in the dirt?

“‘A natural bond. We grew up together’” (157). I wonder what Viktor thinks of Bile bonds in general. He grew up in Stetriol, so he’d probably be pretty torn.

Okay, so he thanks Shane for the Bile, but also wouldn’t he find it somewhat repulsive, seeing as he has a good bond with his own spirit animal?

“ . . . held no medicinal properties as far as Shane or Yumaris could discover” (159). I wish they’d shown more of Shane and Yumaris working together.

“Shane dreamed he summoned a falcon . . . He was untouchable” (160). Paralleling his ego?

“Here, at last, were the true warriors” (161). How were they picked?

“‘See now, Karmo? I said you’d get the hang of this’” (162). Is Karmo being forced? Maybe because of his merging with his animal? But that’s a secret, right?

“He did, however, wear a tight bandage around his left forearm” (162). Oop, Shane got him.

[cut because block limit]

The woman with the nickname “Greenslayer” needs a backstory of her own.

Why did Yeffa not want Karmo to help Viktor??? There’s a reason, right?

“It was clear who they held responsible for the outcome of the war” (164). Yep, that’s it.

“Shane wasn’t wholly surprised when Karmo made a break for it later that night” (165). Why didn’t Karmo do that earlier, though?

“‘Shane as in Shane the Reptile King? Devourer Shane?’ ‘It’s just Shane these days’” (167). Shane’s humor’s at its finest when it’s unintended.

“‘King Shane is a no-good snake’” (168). The snake symbolism thread is just *chef’s kiss*

“Who would want to keep so many smelly, scaly reptiles on display?” (169). It’s ironic how Shane is the self-proclaimed Reptile King, yet hates reptiles in reality. Almost like he hates himself from the start.

“‘Zerif chose some real lowlifes. Devin was a bully. Ana was a thief. And Tahlia, the girl from Stetriol? She was downright vicious. We were all afraid of her’” (171). Kind of wonder where Ana’s from. Like, what’s her story? Maybe she was a thief because of circumstance, like Rollan.

“Faced with such devastation, Shane had decided that day that he would activate their secret asset in the next battle. Let the Greencloaks hurt one another for a change” (171). It’s almost funny how jealous he sounds.

“‘My tribe has never had a Rain Dancer. That means we get less respect in Nilo than the insects and grubs’” (172). But Abeke’s tribe was the same before she was declared Rain Dancer, right? It doesn’t really seem like respect was Abeke’s tribe’s main problem.

“‘Finally getting called a hero, and it’s for all the wrong reasons’” (172). I think even if Karmo had succeeded in the Rumfuss mission, he’d probably have come around anyway in the end. Like he has now.

“‘The Reptile Queen?’ ‘That’s what she calls herself.’ Shane felt a weight in the pit of his stomach . . . It was the feeling he got whenever something bad was happening - and that it was his fault” (173). Oh, he figured it out immediately.

“Shane dreamed he summoned a leopard . . . And he knew he had been forgiven for all he’d done wrong” (174). Oh my God, I’m actually gonna start crying. This like. Perfectly encapsulates the tragedy of Abeke and Shane. Like Abeke forgives him but at the cost of his own life.

“‘The snake is you, if it wasn’t clear’” (176). God, this guy is stupid.

“Shane had once worn that crown . . . ” (178). How did she get her hands on Stetriol’s crown?

Okay, but how did Tahlia survive??? How did she get off the docks?

Shane didn’t know what the execution method was going to be, and didn’t have a plan for dealing with it. Which means that if they had just been planning on running him through with a sword or something, he’d have been screwed. Like, wow, that was straight-up stupid of him.

“One of the tattooed islanders lay unconscious at their feet, while the second one stood at the edge of the tree line, pleading with a huge emu . . . ” (182). Yeah, gettem. This means that the brothers are Piri and Timone. Which means they didn’t change and are still both corrupted as fuck. Nice to see that Timone has regressed with his spirit animal bond.

“She wouldn’t let go of her knives any more than she would let go of her hate” (184). It’s giving Conor and Cordelia in that final battle.

“‘The war is over!’ he cried” (186). Aww.

“‘But this time, we’ll be fighting on the right side’” (186). Shane’s redemption arc is so perfectly started in this book. I will never not be angry that he and Abeke never sat down after they met up again and had a genuine conversation about their feelings.

Final thoughts and rating (doing the negatives first this time):

Zerif and Yumaris’s bonds are weirdly inconsistent. Zerif’s bond is natural, seeing as he was bonded even before finding the Bile, so how come his jackal ran away? It can’t do that, can it? And Yumaris had a Bile bond, but had her powers even before she was bonded? So that’s sort of a plot hole. I also felt the last two stories were slightly more off-putting than the first two. They felt strange in terms of tone, which I get that they were supposed to be, but the resolutions to those sections felt so weirdly rushed. While I did enjoy getting to see what happened to Tahlia, she’s just such a weird villain. I can’t imagine her having enough finesse to put together an entire army, the way she screams at Shane and the way she doesn’t take his hand at the end. With Shane, you can see that he’s smart and careful and manipulative, but with Tahlia, I just have such a hard time believing she could stop acting like a child long enough to put together a two-hundred-person army. Anya was a strange character. I liked her while reading, but her ending was so out-of-place.

Most of the negatives of the book are nit-picks, because there’s almost nothing wrong with this book, in my opinion. First of all, the parallels. They’re so good. I feel like Nick Eliopulos has such a different writing style, one that favors symbolism and parallels and other analyzation things over the story itself. It was really fun trying to find them all and made my reread almost as fun as the original. Also the Easter eggs??? Like the Piri and Timone thing, or the several hints about Abeke. It was fantastic. The story really rewards you for paying attention to the main series and this book. First two stories were at their best, with the backstory and the Shane-snake-crocodile symbolism. The complicated relationships in Shane’s life were also written so well, such as Drina and Yumaris. It’s clear that Shane both hated and loved both of them. It also shows why he cared for Abeke so much, seeing as that was one relationship that didn’t feel as complicated to him, at least in the beginning. Exploration of the Bile was done well, too. We can see that Timone, for example, is still bonded, because his bond was originally natural, but Piri’s killer whale apparently left him. Getting Karmo’s backstory was also a highlight. And it paves the way for Devin’s story in Tales of the Fallen Beasts. And Shane the unreliable narrator. Excellently done. His pride being his “fatal flaw”, so to speak? And that being a thread that carried the entire book? It was astonishingly well done. I could see it even when it wasn’t explicitly said. Shane as a character carries this book on his back. He is such an excellent protagonist (anti-hero?) to follow, and it makes me wish we’d gotten more page time of him in the main series, as well as more chapters from his perspective. He’s so smart, and the places where he’s figuring things out or using his wits just make him even better. This book is the one that made Shane my favorite character because he’s just written with so much depth and this book does a spectacular job of humanizing him.

Rating: 10/10

#draeyem rereads spirit animals #the book of shane #spirit animals series #spirit animals books #spirit animals #spirit animals thoughts

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mycupofrum · 1 year ago

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20 Questions for Fic Writers!

Thanks so much for the tag gracelesslady23!! ♡

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

28 (14 in English and 14 in Finnish)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

106,723

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I mainly write for the Harry Potter fandom, though I did write one Star Wars fic (dipped my toes into Obikin). I’ll post it in English some day.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

These are all Prongsfoot.

Bathe with me (4k, Explicit)

What are best friends for (2k, Explicit)

A lesson in love (6k, Mature)

First day of work (730, Mature/Explicit)

One of these days (388, Gen)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Absolutely!! If someone has taken the time to leave a comment I will happily respond.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don’t know if I have any angsty endings in my fics but probably By my side is one of the angstiest stories I’ve posted on AO3. Just your average Midsummer fic with some necromancy and raising someone from the dead.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

They all have happy endings, but probably A lesson in love, which has a feel good ending, or Specialised in you where they get to a happy ending through some initial angst and drama. Feels even happier then, doesn’t it?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

None so far. Fingers crossed it stays that way. Nobody should have to deal with it.

9. Do you write smut?

Yesss. Whatever they end up doing, there’s usually an emotional connection there because that’s how I prefer to write intimate scenes. But ngl, half the time I'm pushing myself to get the words out because I still think "oh no, is this really awkward" but then I remember the post I saw here on Tumblr where an actual published novel had the cringiest smut I've ever seen, and I'm fine again. We've all got this!

10. Do you write crossovers?

No.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I translate my own fics.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Years ago I wrote a few HP crack fics together with others.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

James/Sirius. (To quote Snape: Always. 💀) Almost from the start. Sometime before the fifth book came out I was completely into Prongsfoot. Not counting years.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I don’t post anything until I finish it first, so I have no hanging WIPs on AO3. But I have plenty in my WIP folder. I like to remain hopeful that I’ll end up writing them eventually. Not going to stress about anything.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I can come up with some nice plot ideas, funny and tense scenarios and good banter between J and S.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My ability to finish fics and focus on one fic at a time has felt difficult lately. I don’t know why I seem to run out of steam when I have the last third left. Also descriptions are hard for me, partly because while I love how they set the mood and make the text more vivid, I’m always eager to just write what the characters are doing and saying to each other. Descriptions in English are especially hard because it’s my second language and I’m always guessing if what I write has the right nuance and tone etc.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

Sure, why not if it fits the story. I added a very minimal amount of French flavour to Fashion and hoped that no one would get too pissed off about it (mostly because of my poor attempt to write French English accent, not the actual French in there).

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter. The first fic I ever posted as a teenager was a humour fic where Harry and his friends time travelled into the past and for some reason all the guys had to take part in a beauty competition (Mr Hogsmeade ’76) hahaha. This fic does not exist anywhere online anymore.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Specialised in you is dear to me because it was not supposed to become at all what it is but James Potter took over the plot and I was a mere scribe at that point. Also I have a 20k Prongsfoot fic in Finnish that I haven’t translated into English yet but it’s the apple of my eye. I did a lot of research and put so much time and effort and all my Prongsfoot feels into it. It’s loosely inspired by the film Velvet Goldmine i.e. glam rock, glitter and S pining for J.

Tagging @fiendishfyre @siriuslystarbucks @solitaire-sol @adiha @prongsfootloves

No pressure. <3

#tag game #self recs

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starmora · 1 year ago

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I think Gunn cared about all the characters but he cared about the finale he wanted even more. The difference in character building, paying attention to smaller details and giving more equal space to each individual dynamic in vol 1 & 2 compared to what we see in vol 3 is pretty noticeable. Even with its flaws IW balanced muiltple characters and smaller plot points better than vol 3. As others have said in vol 3 you'd think IW and EG never happened. You have barely any idea about what happened after EG either except Peter clearly fell apart and Gamora somehow ended up a ravager who was somehow keeping up Nebula for some undisclosed amount of time. That's not good storytelling. We don't even know if the characters think Gamora was ressurected with no memory or if they know she's from the past. I'm also confused because the film treats it as if Gamora herself wasn't in EG

Gamora finally got to connect with the guardians and at least feel something for Peter but that's it. She's back with the ravagers like she didn't just go through a pretty emotional experience that opened up a whole new view of herself and what had happened before. I get the ravagers are who she's been with but there's too much that's went on to act like things hadn't changed.

I don't know what happened behind closed doors and I'm sure there were more details to all of this than we will know. But I do think people had enough self awareness to realize Gamora shouldnt stay dead dead but not enough to realize just being alive and present wasn't enough. Add to that Gunn having zero flexibility to work with the complexities of a shared universe and sexism/biases and everything became disjointed. There's good stuff for Gamora in vol 3 but there needed to be more and I think whatever small details played a part in larger decision making need to be talked about by Gunn away from Twitter so there aren't vague answers running amuck or a dozen different types of responses to the same question that are similar enough to not be a complete contradiction but different enough wording to cause confusion.

You’re right, maybe it’s unfair to say he doesn’t care about Gamora but it just feels like he cared about Rocket and his story the most and Gamora is unfortunately the one who suffered the most for this, for some odd bizarre reason, when it really didn’t have to be that way.

It’s funny you mention that about not knowing anything after eg, because I went with my mom to see the movie again (this was her third time seeing it with me, and she has seen every other movie the guardians are in multiple times, so it’s not like gotg is new for her) and she turned to me and told me she was confused about pretty much everything that happened in the opening of the movie and asked me what happened for them to have gotten to the point where they all have this base on Knowhere and Gamora is a ravager and everyone doesn’t seem to really care what she’s been up to and she asked me to explain it to her and I just. Couldn’t, because there wasn’t an answer. Like you just have to use your imagination I guess and that’s fine but it also feels like he just kind of wanted to jump to the end and tell his rocket story and get out.

I truly believe he thought about it and considered what would be best for her but it’s just clear to me he didn’t give her the same level of attention he gave Rocket or Peter, and honestly probably didn’t even consult anyone or get any sort of second opinion on it because he just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to do that with all his talk about having complete control lmao. And like in a perfect world where infinity war had never happened to her, I don’t think that would have mattered AS much but it did and she needed a little more love and attention from Gunn because of it that he seemingly just didn’t wanna give

#callie.txt #answered #anonymous #Gamora deserved better

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free-for-all-fics · 10 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

19 March 1912

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

“And to me, too.”

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

9 January 1916

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

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

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

Dear John,

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

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

Madeleine xxx

Dear Louis,

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

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

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

Madeleine xxx

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You did love me when you married me.”

“I thought I did.”

“Is there someone else?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you love him?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?”

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

“Louis—”

“I have to know it eventually.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

21 January 1916

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I already asked her.”

“And she didn't know a thing?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Nothing.”

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

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

“Ah, you drunken... Doc?”

“Yes?”

“How am I?”

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

“How am I if anyone asks?”

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

“No, please wait!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, really, why didn’t you come?”

“Was it so urgent?”

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

“Please, tell me the worst.”

“Are you sure you’re prepared?”

“Yes, sir.”

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

“Today?”

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

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

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

“Where are you going for your leave?”

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

“Why should I?”

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

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

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

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

19 February 1916

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

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

Louis xxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The trouble is, I’m too nice.”

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

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

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

“Mr. Gentry.”

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

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

“That’s not a bad idea.”

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

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

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

“Oh, Louis.”

“Do anniversaries make you sad?”

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

“I have something to tell you, too.”

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

“Yes, my dear?”

“I'm not going to see you anymore.”

“Why is that?”

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

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

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

“You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, Louis...”

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

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

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

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

“I’d wait forever.”

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

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

2 March 1916

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

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

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

Your Louis xxxxxxxxxxxx

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

16 March 1916

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

Your Louis xxx

23 April 1916

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

Louis xxx

29 April 1916

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

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

Louis xxx

5 May 1916

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

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

Louis xxxxxxx

13 May 1916

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

Louis xxxxx

20 May 1916

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

Louis xxxxxxx

24 May 1916

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

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

Your very own Louis xxxxxx

25 May 1916

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

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

Louis xxxxxxxx

30 May 1916

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

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

Your sweetheart xx

18 June 1916

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

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

Louis xxxxx

25 June 1916

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

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

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

Your very own Louis xxxxx

27 June 1916

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

Louis xxxxxxxxxx

7 July 1916

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

Your Louis xxxxxxx

11 July 1916

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

Louis xxxxx

31 July 1916

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

Your very own Louis xxxxxxxx

3 August 1916

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

Your Louis xxxxxxx

5 August 1916

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

Your sweetheart xxxx

5 September 1916

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

Your very own Louis xxxx

10 September 1916

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

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

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

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

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

Your own Louis xxxxxxxxxx

16 September 1916

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

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

Your own Louis xxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

14 January 1918

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

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

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

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

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

Signed - Dr. Florbelle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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saltysplayt00ns · 3 months ago

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Reblogging and pasting what I commented on DA ( Deviant art )

Remember guys, Rhov is the same dog that had ONE argument with Jahla despite having years from Asmundr to Home relation and later broke up with Jahla just to argue with Feaf who only know a few months, almost THREE TIMES ( 1, 2, 3 ) and immediately mate with Feaf in the broad public of the borders of Whispervale . At this point I see this as Karma cause Rhovanion hoped to evade parenthood JUST to deal with parenthood in the most nonsensical way possible.

Rhov waited seasons with Jahla and didn't want anything from Jahla’s end and neither did he. Which would’ve been a good show of relationships where people just don’t want or are not ready for kids yet and want to focus on the relationship and their careers as a team. People have done it where they plan and pre/advance plan.

But now we have this plot of a red flag/toxic situation where Rhov is now ready to deal with interspecies war, raising a hybrid, being a “good “ father with no indications of proof to a feline who knew for a month(s). Feaf and Rhovanion didn’t go through a crisis situation compared to Jahla; one went bittersweet and the other not so much.

PLUS integrate the child in a world who would report others just to raid them, But knowing kiq. It’ll be like Nordgard ( meteor tribe ) having a big army to be taken down by a small group by deus-ex-machina and making the opposing teams dumb down to make it possible.

——-

If the Golden Lioness ( which is not golden, (I did a rework of the golden lioness on my tumblr blog ) nor does anything pertaining to what she does ) was seen as mischief good and not benevolent would not have this Red flag.

The Golden lioness didn’t come to Feaf in a dream nor showed up after Feaf questioning what she saw. If she did, Feaf can discuss with Nubia ( her mother ) and Rhovanion if they’re ready and what comes with being the ambassador under the Lioness for the Hybrid. The deer spirit did it with Rogio who has every right to deny him cause Rogio didn't follow the rules He doesn't even have the PIECE OF ANTLER that had been told. most have asked for permission or accepting the deal but somehow pregnancies there is none.

And How Feaf wanted cubs, how a feather is enough proof she wanted it when she practically and possibly doesn’t know the inclination and if Feaf knew WHY SHE DIDN’T TELL RHOVONION!!! she literally baby-trapped him into a relationship, ya know the same one who Gaslight Rhov three times for him wanting to be with Jahla. Rhov would not be happy about all this like AT ALL!!!.

What did she even mean that ‘ the Goddess had been fighting species coexist since the beginning ‘ ??!!! Instead of helping the Cats advance in immunity, language barrier, intellect/charisma, their physics or fertility or maybe even blending better in their environments?? No, instead she gave them bow and arrows ‘ death from afar ‘ to kill dogs faster which didn’t do anything and caused more separation between the species.

The golden Lioness didn’t protect her Forngrym people, WHO ARE ALSO FELINES and don’t excuse them of not doing prayers or interactions. Feaf didn't ask for kids and the Lioness literally just tricked her into having them.

and the only thing that comes out of Rhovanion’s mouth is that he’s ready, like that gives me a whiplash I don’t know to be shocked, appalled, disgusted or all of the above. He’s not showing any emotion except a smile, not even worrying about the whole process or conflict - just accepting it.

If he was ready, he would’ve been fine being with Jahla and having pups with her cause literally a wolf x Dog pup is just as heinous and a hybrid then a cat and dog. and knowing kique it’ll just be a copy + paste of Feaf or Jahla in species and/or design. cause if its not something easily traced he'll just used a pre-made variant or place rules/laws and then claim the ideal to be his own.

——

And Nubia has the audacity to state not to worry and are protected by family when we are shown Aedra would literally tear the planet apart for anything primitive, the slightest inconvenience, or not a Dog, Heck they would even Do it to their own kind as well with no hesitation.

Adding that Rhovanion didn’t even leave for 2-3 months to help Ronja he abandoned the journey as well as his step-Nieces(??) to lay around and fool around with Feaf??, must I remind ya Marduck just attacked the Rabishu and glow cats and demand adoration. Not something to lollygag around.

Also the capital is not one of bloodshed??? ‘ fighting with blood is not their style ‘ WTF !!!???? YOU'RE A BOUNTY HUNTER. THAT IS LITERALLY YOUR JOB. You just went to Southspear and killed dogs there and the Capitol approved a genocide to Forngrym, forcing them to the cold deserts of the mountains ( evidence 1, 2 ) . You don’t even disband or help those of tyrant leaders, you let MT cause havoc for almost 30+ years. You’re just as guilty not doing anything then doing something of bloodshed.

' Racism ' didn't even become prevalent until ghouls was forgotten, which they should not cause ghouls are still roaming around and are many cause many dogs died and animals died. If it was prevalent then it should've been done the moment meteor went after Zilas or Axi showing traits on Feaf. and vice versa on the cats of Shiverfall with Rhovanion.

You're fooling yourself to think that as well as to the audience for spewing such idiocrasy. But I forgot Nubia was the lioness that slept with two males that were also brothers that caused a decline in their bond that had her running in hiding in the Capitol.

This literally sounds like a dang Cult like legit a cult telling someone naïve and not knowing what they’re getting themselves into.

👏 NON-CONSENT 👏 IS 👏 NOT 👏OKAY 👏 AT 👏 ALL. PERIOD.

---

Ps. I added links to those pages in case people need a jolt on their memories. I also want to add arguments are not usually screaming, most of the time it can become a disagreement that can get heated, hurt etc.

Ok! So finally page 869 have released. longest wait of my life because I really wanted to rant? or whatever about this page. There are just several things wrong with it. so starting off, Feaf's mother ends up visiting her and rhov at asmundr territory and feaf is telling her mother that oh she feels sick and has been getting these weird symptoms on and off. so then the mother tells feaf that she's probably pregnant. rohv and feaf are in shock (for like a mere second), anyways then her mother is like we you should put aside the differences of canine and felines and tells her it probably was the golden lioness because she's been fighting for their species for peaceful "coexistent". Again, in my honest opinion this whole species "racism" thing was like another 180 slapped into the comic, there was no indication in earlier pages that canines and felines were struggling to accept one another. since feaf was part of an all guild dog group minus herself being the only feline and cause Axi is the biggest ass. but maybe we could of given hints that she disliked feaf or something from the beginning or saw her as lower class compared to a dog. it would of at least shown the readers that "oh yeah these dogs are racists btw" because the main focus for the longest time was the ghouls and MT which for one the ghouls are pointless and are the most non threatening thing on aedra and but was so important too basically rent land to burn bodies on MT land when they also knew about their past brutal ways. but sat on their butts and shrugged shoulders about it. Moving on... so then feaf mother tells her that if she doesn't want to have the kids, she can take herbs to pretty much terminate the pregnancy. you can take that how you want since it's referring to abortion. and well, in my honest opinion I kinda wish she did take the herbs only because it would save injustice for her future kids but also rhov and feaf barely know each other. but kique is an idiot and no longer has purpose for rhov and forgot about going back to ronja. she then claims that she's "dreamed" of always wanting to start a family with rohv? like feaf what?? when? you two only officially hooked up together from gaslighting each other, then rhov chimes in and says it is a bit sudden (because it is) but says he's ready if she is. I wanna point out that feaf's mom reaction is so emotionless and she's just chill about like its been a common thing. but it's really not, if anything this is history in the making and the reactions are so poorly done by the entirety of the page. creating a potential new spices of hybrids. which spoiler alert, no hybrids, kique claimed and is so damn lazy. but the offspring will most likely be a mix of pups and cubs I guess apparently drawing hybrids will be too hard to trace off of or something. though if he willing to he could get creative with it, plus there was a cat mixed with dog hybrid back in asmundr shown or I think mentioned. he wont draw hybrids but is adding bears in his new comic, doesn't make sense too me but alright. another thing, you all remember when rogio went to the elk spirit to cure his pretend trauma?. I am mentioning this because she's her own spirit. but she gave rogio the opportunity to speak with her personally instead of just getting thrown into the void land or something. I dont what that was called. but if rogio was allowed to speak to him, why couldn't the golden lioness talk to feaf and i dont know ask her permission to impregante her? would of made her look less of an asshole. welp unfortunately this keeps getting worse as newer pages come out.

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celestial-depths · 3 years ago

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Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Mehness

(SPOILERS FOR DOCTOR STRANGE AND THE MULTIVERSE OF MADNESS) I was really expecting to love Doctor Strange And the Multiverse of Madness, but I didn’t. It did contain fun moments of splashy camp horror, but as a whole it sorely lacked soul and emotion, and the pacing was very much off.

Here’s a long-ass post detailing the problems I had with the movie:

1. Previously, in the MCU

Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness relied way too heavily on references to previous installments of the MCU in place of genuine plot and character development. Instead using the tools of filmmaking to set up the story and building emotional beats that lead to a pay-off, the movie just sort of vaguely waved its hand at its cinematic past and expected it to be enough.

The problem with this isn’t really even about some of the audience not being caught up (though that is not not a problem). I’ve seen all the previous movies and series, and I was nevertheless annoyed with the way the movie used references to other movies as a substitute for work it should have done for itself. Hence, the movie was missing many of its vital organs.

Example: Instead of taking the time to establish the concept of the multiverse and, most importantly, Stephen’s attitude towards it, the movie just skipped this whole part by quickly referring to the events of the recent Spider-Man movie. It’s perfectly fine for the movie not to pretend like the multiverse is a thing Stephen isn’t already very much aware of, but what the movie ended up throwing away with the bathwater was Stephen’s point of view.

How does he feel about messing with the multiverse with Spider-Man? Does he regret it? Has he learned something? Did this experience warn him against doing it again, or is he even more curious about exploring the possibilities multiverse?

We don’t know. The movie never allowed him to go there and show us what he thinks of his past actions.

2. According to the legends...

I bet that this movie went through many, MANY rewrites because it can’t seem to commit to a plot point long enough to turn it into something that matters. I felt like I was playing a game with way too many time-wasting side quests and a main object that never delivers.

The characters keep running from one mystical thing of utmost importance only to abandon it for the next mystical thing of utmost importance, and all that only ends up diluting the significance and muddying the meaning of these things in the process.

Meanwhile, the movie was sorely lacking in moments that do feel meaningful. Moments when character grow, when they bond with each other, when their conflicts clash, when they make crucial choices that tell us who they are deep down inside, when they just feel their feelings. There wasn’t any time for those, with the next big action sequence or the next magical ritual just around the corner from the previous one.

This is also a pacing issue. The movie had very few peaceful scenes, which also hurt the action and the excitement. It’s hard to remain invested in what’s essentially a two hour chase sequence when you’re allowed no moments to take a breath and reflect. Even Mad Max: Fury Road had pit stops.

3. Quo Vadis, Stephen Strange?

Marvel movies tend to work more often than not because the studio has had the good sense to focus on building strong characters who keep all the spectacle grounded.

Spider-Man: No Way Home, which premiered not long before this movie, is a very good example of this practice. That movie was full of hyped-up crossover appearances, mind-warping dips into the world of magic and multiverses, and maximalist action sequences, yet the movie worked because it was all anchored in Peter’s emotionally resonant character arc and the relationship he had with the people he loved.

Multiverse of Madness lacked that emotional anchor, and it showed. Stephen Strange didn’t have a well-defined character arc of his own in this movie, and his relationships with the other characters in the film were barely fleshed out. There was a hint of a theme in him being sort of unhappy about not ending up with his ex and a highlighted yet disconnected line about his obsession with being in control, but the movie didn’t spend enough time exploring those inner conflicts long enough for them to truly matter.

I do feel like there’s a story to be told about Stephen’s hubris going wild in the multiverse when things don’t go his way, and that story was already told in one of the better episodes of What If...? Somehow, the Multiverse of Madness ended up doing so much less with Stephen than a single episode of a mediocre AU animated series did, and that’s telling.

I’m honestly not sure if anyone in charge of this franchise knows what to do with Stephen. He seems kind of lost and unmotivated in the beginning of this movie and ended up pretty much the same way. What’s his story, where is he going? Why is he the main character of this movie? I know that seems like a superfluous question because the movie bears his name, but being the main character requires more than just standing in the spotlight. We need to know what drives Stephen into what direction and why we should care, and I feel like this movie just didn’t do the work on that front.

Doctor Strange shouldn’t be a stranger in his own movie.

4. Wanda Why?

Wanda’s motivations in this film were strongly established, yet simplified to a fault. She was the best character in the movie thanks to Elizabeth Olsen’s magnetic performance, and because she got to be the centerpiece of the most memorable scenes of the movie. Sadly, it all came at the expense of Wanda’s complexity.

Gone was the layered character Wanda became in the brilliant WandaVision, in which she gained power and learned a valuable lesson about dealing with grief and loss, and in her place was a flattened villain who has completely forgotten that lesson and incapable of thinking past her most primal instincts. This was explained in the movie by her having been corrupted by the Darkhold, but that felt like a lazy excuse to get out of coming up with more interesting a way of turning her into the relentless yet soulless monster the story needed her to be.

What a force of nature she would have made had she been allowed to be the villain of this movie while still retaining the depth, the heart, and the mind she had when we last saw her.

Now, this is also a problem I have with the way the character is sometimes written in the comics, but it just really annoys me that Scarlet Witch falls victim to the sexist tropes of a) the woman who goes crazy because she has too much power for her pesky female emotions to handle, and b) the woman who goes crazy when she loses her children because motherhood is apparently an all-consuming identity that leaves women no other reason to exist.

I was kinda hoping that the MCU version of Wanda would not go there this hard. Wanda could still struggle with her mental health, love her children fiercely, and do very questionable things without being this unhinged.

There’s also an ableist angle here: this whole concept of “going crazy” and what it entails. As a personal with a long history of mental health issues, I care a lot about how all sorts of mental health struggles are portrayed in popular media, and one of my biggest annoyances is the way they are often treated as something that inevitably turns people into unhinged murderers. Even if this movie is just a bit of light entertainment, it still shapes the attitudes towards mental health issues, and I would rather not see yet another piece of media that equates “going crazy” with becoming a violent killer.

5. And Why Are They Here?

The other characters of the movie felt also more or less empty.

America Chavez was allowed to be little else than a passive plot device who spend way too much time standing around and looking scared instead of making conscious choices or emotionally resonant contributions to the story. We barely got to know her personality and she never developed a meaningful bond with Doctor Strange, which hurt the climax of the movie. They ended up being just co-runners-away-from-scary-things with no personal relationship.

This was no fault of actor Xochitl Gomez, whose performance left me looking forward to seeing her character again. In fact, the cast was overall very good, and they all felt more or less wasted in thankless parts that either gave them nothing to do or too little depth.

Rachel McAdams is way too good an actress to be here just as Dr. Generic Love Interest. I am eternally confused about why the movie kept putting such an emphasis on the importance of her relationship with Stephen while also having zero interest in exploring it the slightest. Chiwetel Ejiofor returned as Baron Mordo and once again gave too much to a part that gave him nothing in return.

As for the parade of Marvel cameos, it was a mixed bag for me. Live action Captain Carter made me weak in the knees, and just a few minutes of Lashana Lynch as Captain Marvel convinced me that Maria Rambeau should have the title in the 616 universe as well (sorry, Carol). I don’t usually care about Black Bolt, but the two scenes that showed off his power were some of the highlights of the whole movie for me.

Meanwhile, I wish that Sir Patrick had not walked back his previous decision to let his appearance in the tremendous Logan be his last round as Xavier. As much as I love seeing him, I just feel like his presence here was unnecessary and not good enough a reason to bring back his beloved Xavier. I hesitate to use the phrase “this cheapens the legacy of the character” in a world where Wolverine: Origins exists, but yeah, that.

John Krasinski as Reed Richards was the biggest bummer for me because I was still hoping that Marvel was going to cast someone other than him. I am always happy to see Charlize Theron, but her mid-credit scene was probably the laziest and least exciting mid/post-credit scene to date. Seriously, guys, if you’re not even going to bother, just cut the scene and grant her the dignity of getting a proper introduction scene in another movie.

Even though I really enjoyed seeing some of these characters on screen, this aspect of the movie just seemed like the worst kind of audience pandering. Marvel cameos and crossovers are great when they lead to fun team-ups or emotional reunions. This didn’t work (beyond Captain Carter and Captain Marvel getting to kick some ass together; petition for a new Disney+ series plz) because Strange doesn’t have and didn’t end up developing a meaningful relationship with any of these characters. He didn’t care, so I couldn’t care either.

6. Some Credit to Sam Raimi

I’m not sure who to blame for the failings of this movie, but I have a feeling that it’s not director Sam Raimi. Whenever the movie did work, it worked because it felt like a good old Raimi movie.

Raimi is at his best when he gets to deliver dark humor, campy horror, and inventively gruesome imagery. He turned Scarlet Witch into a spectacular movie villain and made her seem truly terrifying whenever she got creative with her deadly powers. My favorite scene in the movie was Scarlet Witch’s first dreamwalking scene, which conjured up psychedelic images reminiscent of trashy horror movies from the 60′s and 70′s.

Raimi allowed Strange to have his moments, too. There was some real magic in the sight of him entering the haunted house version of his home inhabited by his darkest alternative version, and the image of Zombie-Strange wrapped up in the souls of the damned was nothing short iconic.

But all those cool images and atmospheric moments were not enough to save this movie from the weak story and undercooked characters. It’s just garnish on the top of a heap of hot air.

There are directors who are all style and no substance, but Raimi isn’t one of them. His Spider-Man movies are great examples of superhero movies that manage to find a balance between character development and action (yes, even the third one; it’s not good, but at least an attempt was made).

That’s why I am wondering whether this movie is yet another victim of studio interference instead of a failure on Raimi’s part. Disney tends to hire visionary directors with bold visions and then tying their hands because they’re too afraid of taking creative risks, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that explains what went wrong here.

7. Summa Summarum

Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness is far from the worst MCU movie to date, but for me it’s probably the biggest letdown so far. I feel like it failed to live up to the promise it had, and it fell victim to the worst patterns this franchise has.

#marvel #doctor strange #multiverse of madness #mcu #marvel mcu #sam raimi #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #doctor strange and the multiverse of madness

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queen-haq · 3 years ago

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Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 17

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and smut.

Words: ~3300 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Part 17

Billy couldn’t stop gawking at you, wondering how it was possible you grew more beautiful each time he saw you. The red wrap dress you were wearing accentuated all your curves, and it took every bit of willpower he had not to rip it off of you and fuck you senseless right then and there. Unfortunately, he had to behave himself. Caravan was a pretty bouji place that had recently been labelled as one of the hottest restaurants in Manhattan and he had to pull a few strings to get a last-minute reservation for tonight. But seeing the smile on your face when you realized this was where you were dining had been completely worth all the hassle.

As the hostess guided the two of you to your table, he noticed a few assholes at the bar admiring you from afar. Immediately he snaked his arm around your waist to draw you in closer. You were his. If he could he’d pluck out every one of those fuckers’ eyes so they never made the mistake of looking at you again. Better yet, he’d keep you locked behind closed doors. Of course you wouldn’t agree to anything like that because you were too goddamn independent for your own good.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, taking a seat at your designated table.

Billy’s attention returned to your face as he followed suit, his gaze inhaling you in. “You look too hot. Too many assholes staring at you,” he grumbled.

The worried look on your face was replaced with a beaming smile, one that made his cock twitch.

“You’re being ridiculous” you remarked, scanning the menu.

His eyes drifted down to your chest, the swell of your soft, supple breasts just begging to be kissed and licked by him.

“Stop staring at my boobs, Billy,” you chastised even as a small smile graced your lips. “This is a proper first date. You can’t just ogle me like that. You have to behave like a gentleman.”

He quirked his eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I’ve never been that.”

“Well, try,” you ordered.

The waitress came by with the bottle of red wine you’d requested and poured some in both of your glasses. He noticed the redhead giving him a friendly smile, her green eyes lingering on him for a second too long. Fine, yeah, she may have been hot but she wasn’t you. No one was. So while he would have happily slipped her his number in the past, now the idea of being with someone who wasn’t you no longer excited him.

Once she left, he took the opportunity to move a few inches closer to you. What he really wanted was to get on his knees and bury his head between your legs, but something told him eating you out in in the crowded restaurant wouldn’t go over very well with you.

“I think she likes you.”

Hand propped on the back of your chair, he started playing with your hair. “Who?”

“Our waitress. She didn’t look at me once, her eyes were on you the entire time.”

He leaned in, ecstatic at the thought of you acting possessive. Even though you’d confessed to having feelings for him, Billy still worried you were ready to bolt at any moment. To see you jealous meant you genuinely cared and he didn’t have to worry about you leaving him. “She’s not my type. I have my eyes on someone else.”

You made a show of looking around the restaurant. “Oh, is Madani here too?”

“Funny,” he retorted, taking your hand in his.

“Your ginger’s lucky. I’m dressed way too nice or I’d take my knife and stab her with it.”

He smirked. “You’re vicious when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I just don’t like bad service.”

“Bullshit.”

“Billy, you’re hot. You know that. All the women here are checking you out. If I freaked out every time someone did that, I’d have a breakdown.”

He wanted to destroy the fucking world at the thought of someone even looking at you but apparently you were simply ambivalent about him. “So it’s that easy for you? Your brain tells you to turn off a feeling and your heart just does it?” Even to his own ears he sounded bitter. “Guess you’re not all that invested in me.”

Your eyebrow quirked up, apparently surprised by his edgy tone. “Do you want me to go nuts?”

“Just want you to give a damn.”

“You think I don’t?” you snapped. “Every time she looks at you I want to tear her hair out. Even though the rational part of me knows she’s probably just flirting with you because it’s part of her job or she’s hoping for big tips. Or maybe she really does want to fuck you. Either way, I want to punch her across the face. Happy?” You gulped down your wine.

Grinning, he squeezed your hand. “Then why not just tell me that? Why act like you don’t care?”

The agitated expression on your face was replaced with tenderness, your eyes soft. “Just because I don’t have a jealous fit doesn’t mean I don’t care. I just…” You exhaled a sigh, and he sensed this was difficult for you. “I express my emotions differently than you.”

“I noticed. You put on an act while holding everything in.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“But I want you, the real you, not the version everyone else sees.”

“It’s not that easy, Billy.”

He brought your palm to his lips. “I’d never told anyone about my mother.”

“You didn’t tell me either,” you pointed out.

“You found out anyway, and I’m so fucking glad you did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have realized I could be real with you.” He placed a tender kiss on your skin. “I don’t want to hide anything from you, Y/N.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Then tell me about William Rawlins.”

Your request gave him pause, his eyes roaming over your face. He’d taken painstaking measures to keep his partnership with Rawlins a secret yet you’d discovered it. “What do you want to know?”

“He gave you a lot of money.”

“I earned that money,” he said in a defensive tone. “He and I were partners for a while. Then he died.”

“You went to a lot of trouble to hide your connection to him.”

“You found out about it though.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Yeah, too good,” he muttered. He released your hand, watching you intently. “So what do you want to know?”

You leaned in closer, your voice barely above a whisper. He was momentarily distracted by the sensation of your tits pressed against him but he forced himself to concentrate.

“What happened to Rawlins, did you have anything to do with it?”

Billy took a swig of his wine. “Why do you think that?”

You quirked your eyebrow at him. “Knifed by someone in the parking lot. They never found the guy who did it.”

“He had a lot of enemies,” he pointed out.

“Okay, so maybe I was wrong.”

He studied you for several seconds, trying to decide if he should take the leap or not. “You’re not wrong.”

Realization dawned on your face as the truth set in. “Why did you do it?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

So he told you, about Operation Cerberus, his role in it and the money he earned, how he’d eliminated Rawlins a year ago when the prick plotted to take out Frank and his family. To this day Frank didn’t know about Billy’s partnership with Rawlins or how close he came to dying and he intended to keep it that way.

Throughout his confession his eyes were glued to your face, gauging your reactions. The part of him determined to do anything to be a success, the one who didn’t let society’s morals get in the way of his ambitions, would never be accepted by his closest friends. Despite the myriad of reasons to have kept that side of himself hidden, he didn’t want to do that with you. Because as risky as it was to be so open with you, it was also exhilarating. There was no one in this world he’d ever been this honest with and that kind of intense connection with you was addictive. He wanted you to know everything about him, all of the dark and vicious thoughts that ran through his head, the burning ambition that kept pushing him forward. He wanted you to know him inside and out and he wanted the same from you.

Before he could prod you to speak your mind the server came by with your dishes, setting your meals on the table. The redhead took her time, all the whilst your gaze was focused on the table, avoiding his. Billy’s heart started to pound in his chest, he was suddenly filled with doubt. Had he made a mistake in telling you the truth? Did he just completely fuck this up? Every second the goddamn redhead lingered at the table felt like an eternity when all he wanted was to shake you out of your stupor.

The second the server left, he moved in on you. “Are you gonna say something?”

You finally looked at him, your forehead burrowed. “We need to do a better job of hiding your history with Rawlins. I found it, that means someone else can too.”

“You gonna help me with that?”

You shook your head ‘yes’. “Yeah, I have to. You need me.”

“What I did doesn’t bother you?”

You exhaled a heavy sigh. “Of course it does, but there’s nothing I can do about it. You’ve seen me at my worst and you didn’t judge me. I won’t do that to you either. Besides, when the universe deals you a shitty hand you’ve got to find other ways to even out your odds.”

A strange feeling of warmth flooded over him, compelling him to angle forward and kiss you on the lips.

You pulled away a second later, smiling at him as you rubbed the corner of his mouth. “This lipstick isn’t kiss-proof.”

“I don’t care.” Wicked visions of you flashed through his mind. Your bold red lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him off the way he liked it. His cum spread over your tits, your neck, your lips. The taste of your sweet, delicious cunt on his tongue as he fucked you with his mouth. The heat of your tongue against his as he rammed into you over and over-

“Stop looking at me like that,” you warned.

“Then stop looking so hot,” he snarked.

You smiled, biting down on your bottom lip.

It blew his mind how sweet and shy you were when he paid you compliments, like you didn’t expect that from him. Obviously he needed to fix that, because you deserved to know how insanely beautiful you were all the time.

“Has Anvil been okay without Rawlins?” you asked, taking a bite out of your butternut squash ravioli.

Swallowing his steak, he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It was tough for a while but we’ve been doing pretty well the last few months.”

“You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished, Billy. You took a big risk going into business for yourself and you made it work. That’s amazing. I could never do that.”

Billy’s insides radiated with happiness. Other than Curtis and Frank he never really had people who genuinely believed in him so to have you cheering him on was exalting. Especially considering you were great at what you did and he had so much respect for you.

He poured himself and you more wine before reaching for your hand again. “I think you could. You’d make a shitload of money if you freelanced.”

You shook your head ‘no’. “No way, I’m too much of a coward to take a risk like that.” You took a sip of your wine. “Plus I get to go to Paris for work.”

“Or you could go to Paris on vacation and not work.”

“Then I’d have to pay for it,” you pointed out, grinning. “When you grow up the way I did, you learn to appreciate free things.”

Your enthusiasm was infectious, he couldn’t hep but smile back. A part of him was hoping this would be the perfect opening for you to talk more about your childhood, about everything you went through, because he desperately wanted you to trust him as much as he trusted you with his secrets.

“I’ll be there for two weeks,” you continued, oblivious to his disappointment. “We’re going to scout out locations for the new branch and-”

“We?” Billy interjected.

You cast him a quick glance. “Roger’s coming with me on the trip.”

The jealousy that struck him felt like a swift kick to his gut. Images of you and that goddamn bastard traipsing around and enjoying romantic date nights in Paris assaulted his mind. Agitated, he pulled his hand from yours. “I bet that fucker can’t wait to be alone with you.”

“Billy, come on. You can’t be serious.”

“How would you feel if I took off with someone who wanted to fuck me?”

“First of all, he doesn’t want me.”

His jaw clenched with frustration as he glared at you. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s thought about fucking you.”

“Even if he does, I don’t want him.” You reached out to cup his face, your voice so soft and tender in your attempts to placate him that he momentarily forgot how upset he was. “You really think I’d jeopardize what we have for a fling with Roger? I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then don’t go. Turn him down.”

Irritation flickered over your face, he could tell you were done coddling him. “Billy, you have no right to ask me that. I’d never interfere with your work.”

Underneath all that jealousy he knew you were right. As much as he despised the idea of you going away to Paris with another guy, he couldn’t demand that you not go on work trips. If you did that to him, it would annoy the fuck out of him. Yet despite his rational side recognizing he was asking for too much, he couldn’t help but feel bitter. “That asshole’s gonna make a move on you, I know it.”

“What if he does? What do you think is gonna happen?”

Hs eyes met yours, urgently seeking some kind of validation from you. “You tell me.”

“Do you think I’m going to sleep with him?”

He flinched. “Don’t talk about fucking another guy, please. You’re gonna make me lose my appetite.”

You took his hand and placed it over your left breast, probably to distract him from all the disgusting images that were running through his brain. “I wanted you so badly and even then it took me like a month to fuck you. Trust me, I’m not going to sleep with him when I’m not even attracted to him.”

Spotting the earnestness in your eyes, the knot in his stomach finally loosened. Roger may have had a hard-on for you but Billy knew you felt nothing for the fucker. He’d noticed that even at the night of the gala. So that meant he had to trust you, there was no reason not to. “Call me every night when you’re there,” he grumbled.

“Every night? You’re probably going to start blocking my calls,” you laughed.

He booped your nose. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

You beamed. “Fine.” A wicked glint flashed in your eyes, a seductive smile on your lips as you slowly moved his hand lower, his fingers now on your nipple. “Hey, just ‘cause you’re not there with me doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.”

He stroked your nipple over the fabric of your dress, enjoying how the nub hardened under his touch, the way your breath hitched in your throat when he continued his ministrations. With his other hand he tucked your hair behind your ear, whispering to you. “Phone sex is alright, but nothing beats this.” His tongue curved along the shell of your ear, and you trembled against him. “Right?”

The waitress seemed to come out of nowhere this time to ask how your meals were, and you jumped back. Disappointed, he sighed.

“Food was great. Thank you,” you replied, smiling stiffly at the redhead.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Privacy would be great,” Billy muttered.

You kicked him under the table. “Dessert menu?”

“Sure. I’ll bring it right over,” the waitress said, taking your plates away.

“I’ll give you all the sugar you want once we get outta here,” he murmured seductively, caressing your thigh.

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “That’s a terrible line!” You took his hand and removed it from your thigh. “Billy, I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s our first date and I don’t put out on the first date.”

“Now that’s a terrible line,” he fired back, mimicking your earlier tone.

“Also, we already had sex this morning.”

“So? I’m greedy. I can’t get enough of you.” There was that shy smile of yours again, and he reached out to give you a sweet peck on the cheek. “You blush every time I tease you.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, it’s adorable.”

Your cheeks grew even more red. “I’m not used to it from you. A part of me still thinks you’re bullshitting me.”

Billy stiffened. “Really?”

“I know you’re not playing me,” you reassured. “It’s on me, not you. I just have a hard time accepting when good things happen.”

The waitress came by with the dessert menu. He briefly glanced at it before ordering a slice of pecan pie while you ordered a piece of chocolate cake.

As soon as the redhead left, he broached the topic with you again. “I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. You have to believe that.”

You didn’t look at him, your eyes fixed somewhere on his chest. “I do. You were so pissed off at me last night. I honestly expected you to hit me because you were so angry. But you didn’t.”

It made him sick to his stomach that you actually thought him capable of hitting you. It hadn’t even occurred to him that you would worry about that, but of course you would. With your childhood it made perfect sense, he was just a fucking idiot who hadn’t realized how much it still impacted you. “I’m never gonna lay a hand on you. I swear.” His eyes locked with yours, hoping you can sense how much he meant those words.

“I believe you.”

His voice was insistent, his gaze boring into you. “Why did you think I would?”

Your eyes wavered from his eyes to his lips for a long time, the atmosphere thick with tension. Your facial expressions ran the gamut of painful emotions, from uncertainty to fear to sheer panic.

It finally sank in that maybe the reason you were keeping the truth from him had noting to do with if you trusted him or not. Maybe you didn’t want to be assaulted by memories from the past that caused you so much pain. The last thing he wanted was for you to experience that hell again. Regretting his demanding tone, his hands caressed down the length of your arms. “You don’t have to tell me, It’s okay.”

Your eyes brimmed with aching vulnerability as you looked up at him. “I want to… I just… give me some time, okay?” You pressed your lips against his, giving him the softest, sweetest kiss. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight for so long, I don’t want to ruin it, you know?”

His heart felt full, his mind reeling with wonderment at the thought of you truly reciprocating his feelings. His arms wrapped around you as you sank into him, burying your face in his chest. His fingers stroked the back of your hair, murmuring soft, soothing words to you. Somewhere in the distance he heard the server’s voice trying to interject, but he didn’t give a damn. He was yours and you were his and nothing was going to ruin that. Nothing.

Part 18

A/N - I realize not much happened in this chapter but I just reallly wanted to write a dialogue heavy part where they simply get to know and enjoy each other. I think they’ve earned some fluff. LOL.

As always, thank you for your kind words of encouragement. Please let me know your thoughts.

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#billy russo x reader #billy russo #ben barnes #billy russo x you #the punisher #a woman scorned

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